Unexpected
by Sango
Summary: Another Bulma/Vegeta story with a slight twist. Something unexpected changes their perception of each other (and Yamucha actually isn't a cheating jerk). **Completed**
1. Endings

Unexpected, Ch. 1  
Endings  
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"Woman."  
  
Light, seeping through my eyelids and piercing my brain...I fight against the pull of the voice and delve back into the blissful oblivion, the absence of thought.  
  
"Get up." Insistent. Rude.  
  
"Mmmmmmph. Go 'way."  
  
A cold boot toe prods my side, none too gently. Irritated, I grunt and roll over, hitting myself in the nose with something as I do so. I open one eye. A bottle. A slight frown forms on my face; I'm not a heavy drinker. I don't usually sleep on the floor, either. But there is a feeling of dread hanging over me, something I just haven't remembered yet -- oh. Yamucha. A dull ache forms in my throat and I fight back tears. I refuse to cry in front of _him_.  
  
"What the hell do you want?"  
  
"Hurry up and fix me some food. I should be training already!"  
  
I lob the bottle in his general direction, sure that it misses by a mile, but not bothering to look. Yamucha doesn't love me.  
  
"Make it yourself, you Saiya-jin pig!" An image forms in my mind, of the grease fire that resulted the last time he attempted that. My mother would kill me if I let that happen again. And then lecture me about my duties as a hostess. She must be out if he's bothering _me_ for food. I'll never admit it to anyone, but I'm a horrible cook. But at least I won't burn the house down. I hear him turn and leave.  
  
"Never mind, I'm up. Give me a minute." I stumble to my bathroom.  
  
He grunts in reply and continues to stomp down the stairs.  
  
--------------------------  
  
That lazy woman! The morning is halfway over already. But I can't train without eating something and I don't know where the other one is. I'm actually glad; even if the food is better I can't stand her incessant chatter.  
  
I know perfectly well why she was curled up on the floor like a whipped dog with a bottle of whatever that was. I have keen hearing and the unwanted privilege of the room next to hers. That weakling human and she seem to have severed their ties, again. I snort in derision. Imagine letting someone else turn you into a sniveling wreck like that! How pathetic.  
  
Unbidden, the image of her lying there forms in my mind. So vulnerable...clad only in shorts and some sleeveless garment bunched up from tossing in her sleep, exposing a hint of white skin at the navel. Pale aqua hair spilling out under her like a liquid pillow, her arm hiding her face except for a hint of full lips. Unable to tear my gaze away, I stared at her for a moment too long before waking her.  
  
I purge the image from my thoughts and yell at her to hurry up. At this rate the androids will kill us all.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
Waiting for the eggs to cook, I can't stop my mind from replaying the scene from last night... I just couldn't take it anymore...I had to face the fact that things weren't the way I wanted them so badly to be. My wedding to Yamucha wasn't going to take place. He was trying so hard to please me, but the harder he tried, the more obvious it was to me that he just didn't feel the same deep emotion that I had for him. He wanted to make me happy, but couldn't quite keep his eyes from wandering. I knew he was faithful, at least this time. But I also didn't think it would last. I wanted to end it on good terms, before he broke my heart. So I told him it was over, and tried to hide my hurt at the hint of relief in his eyes, when he kissed me on the cheek and left. After that, I sat on the floor with the wine and the picture of my dream dress, torn out of a magazine and well, you know the rest.  
  
"Damn!" These are no longer edible. I have half a mind to serve them to His Highness anyway, but just sigh and start over.  
  
I hate him for being witness to my night of wallowing in self-pity. It was that much worse waking up to the contempt evident in his every feature. That cold voice, the uncaring stance, and insolent smirk all made me want to curl up and die. Or punch his lights out. Neither of which was likely to happen.  
  
I manage not to burn them the second time. I set the plate on the table and walk out, head held high. He'd never see me like that again, I vow.   
  
Wishful thinking on my part.  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
"Is this it? This is hardly a snack!"  
I find myself addressing her back as she stalks out. She walks like a princess, head up, shoulders back and daring the world to cross her. I find it hard to reconcile her attitude and that mouth with the fragile creature sleeping on the floor.  
  
Whatever. I raid the kitchen for something to supplement this pitiful excuse for a meal and head out to train.  
  
I've always pushed myself hard. It's probably why I'm still alive. I became the best, and was therefore useful to Frieza and worth keeping around. I have always been the best, until now. The thought galls me until I want to scream. I hate him, and despise him even more for not caring. I honestly believe being the best fighter in the world doesn't mean anything to him. Kakarot.  
  
It's been hours, I have no idea how many, and I am reaching my limit. But the thought of pummeling him keeps me going. I can't do that without reaching the level he's at -- Super Saiya-jin. I will die if that brat of his achieves it first.  
  
I can feel the energy building up in the room to dangerous levels. But I can't quit now. The increased gravity threatens to force me to the ground. I fall to one knee, but refuse to turn it off. I hear a rib crack from the strain of staying upright.  
  
Finally, I lose control and a blast of ki destroys the controls, returning the pain to bearable levels. The sudden release of pressure gives me the unsettling feeling of feeling like I'm going to fall _up_.  
  
Assessing the damage I growl in frustration. It will probably take that woman days to fix this. I don't admit, even to myself, that I couldn't train more at the moment if I wanted.  
  
Stepping outside, I realize it's already dark. At least I got in most of a day's worth of training. I need a hot shower to lessen the ache of muscles pushed too far.  
  
The woman is in the main room of the house, doing some ridiculous contortions in time with a figure on the screen. I snort derisively, but catch my breath when I notice the slight amount of clothing upon her person, and the sweat glistening on her arms and legs. The position she is in doesn't help. What is wrong with me? The gravity room must be affecting my brain. This lowly human is not worthy of my attention...  
  
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Of course I hear him come in. I don't think he's ever entered a room in his life without slamming the door. I can feel the condescending smirk on his face without turning around. I'm trying to clear my mind by working out my body. I _like_ this video and don't care how silly he thinks I look. Kickboxing is fun, and makes me think I just might be able to defend myself, if need be.  
  
Except against a Saiya-jin. I feel his iron grip on my arm and know a moment of fear. The sibilant voice in my ear makes me shiver.  
  
"Your form is terrible. Throw a punch like that, and you'll only hurt your hand. Like this..." His fingers burn my skin as he adjusts the angle of my wrist.  
  
I start to say thanks, but he has already moved on toward the bathroom.   
  
"Whatever. It doesn't matter, you're still pathetically weak and not likely to cause damage even if you manage to connect. Fix me something to eat, woman."  
  
I finish my workout and throw something together for dinner, making sure to make his half as unpalatable as possible without the risk of him demanding something else. After all even a hungry Saiya-jin has some standards, as low as they may be.  
  
I retreat to my bathroom to bathe before all of the hot water is gone. It never occurs to him that other people might like a shower. Inconsiderate baka.  
  
---------------------------------------------------  
  
Standing under the steaming blast of water, I try to wash the feel of her skin from my hand. Slick with sweat, warm to the touch. Her wrist so slender I could snap it like a twig. I can still smell her hair as well -- some scent I can't place, driving me crazy. Sweet, with more than a hint of spice. It fits her perfectly.  
  
What possessed me to talk to her? It was laughable, watching her try to assail an invisible opponent. But the thought of her actually needing to use those moves had bothered me. The reason why I would care eludes me. She's loud and arrogant and only good for fixing that machine and cooking. And the latter is debatable.  
  
She proves me right yet again with that slop on the table. Does she _try_ to make food as unappetizing as possible? I consider bellowing at her to get back here and try again, but I'm just too hungry and tired to deal with her crap.  
  
I collapse into bed, grateful at least that she isn't going to continue the crying jags every night.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
Walking to the kitchen for a glass of water, I catch a glimpse of him tangled up in the sheets. He isn't nearly as imposing in slumber. The lines on his face fade, and there is a hint of the boy he must have been, a long time ago. He doesn't appear to be sleeping peacefully, though; he tosses back and forth and mumbles something in a language I don't understand. A dead language known only to himself. The only other survivor of his race was raised on Earth. Pity unexpectedly fills my heart...I can't imagine enduring the destruction of my entire race. I consider waking him, but know he would not thank me for being the one to release him from whatever nightmare he's caught in.  
  
It occurs to me then that I could very well know that feeling. Didn't the boy from the future say the androids killed everyone, but me? The thought chills me to the core.  
  
----------------------------------------------------  
  
Life continues for a while. The hurt from the hole Yamucha left in my heart fades just a tiny bit. My days are reduced to cooking for that bastard and fixing the machine so he can break it again. I have another project to occupy my time, however; I am working on something I hope will stop the androids...as a last resort. They wouldn't let me use the dragonballs to stop it before it happened, but I refuse to let the Earth be destroyed if they fail. I've never built a weapon before. The thought was abhorrent to me, that something I built might be used to kill. But this is different.  
  
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"Woman! Where the hell are you and why aren't you fixing that machine!"  
  
She is supposed to be repairing that piece of junk tonight so I can use it tomorrow. But there is no sign of her; perhaps she has reconciled yet again with that human and gone off for a tryst. Frustrated and more than a little disgusted at the thought, I turn back to the house.  
  
Something catches my eye, on the ground near the gravity room. A wrench, shining like a mirror in the moonlight. A faint feeling of unease grips my stomach. Whatever horrible state her living quarters were always in, the woman was fastidious about her tools. She would never have left it out on the ground.  
  
I walk over, and my nose catches a slight taint of blood in the air. Her blood.  
  
More worried than I wish to admit -- Why should I care??? -- I shout again. "Woman!"  
  
Nothing.  
  
There is one footprint leading off into the woods, but no sign of a struggle. Determined to kill her for making me do this, I follow. She had better not just be out for a stroll. Even as I think it, I know that isn't the case.  
  
I find her some distance away, leaning on a tree for support. The smell of blood is stronger.   
  
"Woman. Are you hurt?" A needless question. I can't see anything but her silhouette in the darkness, but every line of her body radiates pain.  
  
Her voice, weak and ragged... "Go away. This doesn't concern you."  
  
She takes a step away from the tree, and sways into a patch of moonlight streaming through the canopy of leaves overhead. Comprehension dawns. The inseams of her grey work pants are soaked with blood from crotch to hem. I can't believe how much of it there is, yet she's still standing.  
  
Barely.  
  
"Baka. I suppose you want me to fetch that idiot boyfriend of yours."  
  
"No!"  
  
Surprised at her vehemence, I say, "Didn't you tell him?"  
  
"...I was only just starting to suspect, myself. I'm not very...regular."  
  
"What are you doing out here?!?"  
  
No answer.  
  
"You could die, you know that! I'll never hear the end of it from Kakarot if I let that happen. I suppose I should take you--"  
  
She turns, a half-smile on pale lips. "I'm too stubborn to die. You should know that. Besides, women have gone through this centuries before we even existed. Before doctors, or hospitals." A sigh. "I don't want Yamucha to know. There isn't any point now."  
  
"I'm sure he would come running..." Sarcasm dripping off my lips. I can't help it.  
  
"I'm sure he would. That's the point. He would come back into my life, trying to take care of me, trying to love me. But he can't. And I won't settle for that. But right now I don't have the strength to send him away again. Do you understand? Promise me you won't tell him."  
  
I don't answer.  
  
She straightens her shoulders and takes a step. Two. I can't help admiring her determination. She has a will of iron, and enough pride for a Saiya-jin. Too much for her own good. Faintly, in a voice barely audible even to my ears, I hear her mumble, "Goku, you were wrong..."  
  
---------------------------------------------------  
  
Goku, before we parted ways, had wished me a healthy baby. I'd thought he was on crack, but maybe he was more perceptive than I gave him credit for. Wait, never mind -- this is _Goku_ we're talking about.  
  
Despite my efforts, I abruptly find the ground rushing up to meet me. I hear a growl of irritation, and before I hit, I am swept into the rough embrace of arms corded like steel. Almost immediately his grip shifts to become less painful and more secure.  
  
"Since you insist on killing yourself, I can at least help you get there faster. Where are you going?"  
  
"I'm bleeding on you."  
  
"I don't like these ugly human rags anyway. But you can wash them later. Where?"  
  
"There is a cave, by the lake. I used to go there, as a child..."  
  
"I could take you home. Your parents probably wouldn't tell anyone if you asked."  
  
"I don't want to worry them."  
  
A lie. I don't want them to know. I don't want to deal with their disappointment, and pity.  
  
He apparently knows the cave that I mentioned, because the next thing I remember is lying in it, something pillowed under my head. A fire burns nearby, but it doesn't lend me much warmth. I am so cold.  
  
He scowls furiously at me throughout the whole ordeal, but his hands are unfailingly gentle.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------  
  
I watch her sleep. As much pain as she must have been in, her pride wouldn't let her show it around me. Grudgingly, I allow myself to feel an ounce of respect. I have seen warriors cry out with less reason.  
  
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I wake to see him sitting across from me, with his back to the wall. I can only tell that he is awake from the firelight reflecting off of his obsidian eyes. His expression gives away nothing.  
  
I stand on rubber legs. "I have to get back. Before morning."  
  
No response. My legs give out and I find myself sitting again.   
  
"I don't know how it happened, you know. We were always careful." I don't know why I'm telling this to him. I'm positive he doesn't give a damn. But I need to talk about it.  
  
"I didn't want it...but now...to never even have the chance to live--" A sob escapes my throat. I distantly remember having promised myself never to let him see me cry, but the tears are unstoppable. I've been through too much. I turn away and try to pretend he isn't there. I wish Yamucha were here. But in a way, that would be worse. The comfort I most want, he can't give.  
  
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She is easier to deal with angry. That, I can handle. Insults I am good at. Comforting sniveling women is not a skill of mine. I've never really cared to try. I still don't, really, but something prompts me to place a hand on her shoulder. I suddenly find myself with an armful of sobbing woman, hot tears soaking my bare chest. Without thinking, I reach up to stroke the silken blue head. I want to leave, and run away from the strange desire to protect that this is evoking in me. I don't have time for this weakness. I almost throw her off and stalk out. Instead I wrap her in the shirt she was using as a pillow and fly her home.  
  
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I awaken disoriented, feeling strangely empty. I remember what has happened, but there are no tears left. I stay in bed, grateful to my mother for accepting my claim of the flu without feeling the need to fuss over me. Realizing I am still wearing Vegeta's 'ugly human rag' of a shirt, I smile a bit. I know he likes this shirt; I've seen him admiring himself in the mirror on more than one occasion.   
  
Sighing, I burrow under the covers and try to force my mind to mirror the emptiness in my soul. I don't want to think anymore. Nothing in my life is happening the way I'd expected. I had thought I would soon marry Yamucha. I won't. I'd thought I might become a mother. Not anymore. I thought Vegeta was a total asshole...well, at least he isn't as bad as I'd thought before.  
  
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End Chapter 1.   
Please review; There are more chapters coming but I really would like some comments/criticism...  
  
Thanks :)   
  
sango_chan  



	2. Loss

insert standard disclaimer here. I don't own Dragonball Z or any of the characters.  
  
Unexpected, ch 2  
Loss  
-----------------------------------  
  
She tiptoes around me for days, apparently fearful of pissing me off. As though to do so would cause me to expose her secret. She undervalues the word of a Saiya-jin, insulting me. Besides, telling any of them would mean purposely talking to them and I'd rather they all leave me the hell alone and let me train.  
  
The food has even been decent for a while. I wonder how long _that_ will last.  
  
I train harder than ever. Pushing my body to its limits allows me to get her face out of my mind, at least for the moment. I sneer at myself for this weakness. Thinking about a human who should be beneath my notice. A weak, pathetic, human.   
  
I lie to myself. I have seen that she is neither weak nor pathetic.  
  
I tell myself to shut up and kick the gravity setting up a notch.  
  
Of course, this eventually results in smoldering metal and the end of my training session.   
  
The light evening rain actually feels good on my overheated skin. I levitate to the roof to soak it in for a while.  
  
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I don't know what I'm feeling anymore. This seems like too much to deal with. I think about telling Yamucha a hundred times a day. I know it's the right thing to do, but I can't do it yet. I need to strengthen my resolve first.  
  
I've been unusually nice to Vegeta lately, ignoring his attempts to start fights, and putting more effort into his meals. I wonder why he isn't holding this over my head.   
  
He seems to be keeping my secret. And I'm not sure, but I think he might even be hurt that I didn't take that for granted. I just find it so hard to trust him.  
  
Walking outside to find him, I see the mess he has once again made of the machine. I think I'm going to leave off fixing it for a while. I'm pretty confident that he isn't going to spill the beans. It would mean intentionally talking to someone and appearing to show an interest in my well-being.  
  
I start to yell at him, but something makes me look up. He is standing on the roof, in the rain, apparently unaware of my presence. Staring into the sky, he is every inch the regal Prince, even without the armor. His magnificent physique takes my breath away. Yamucha was taller, but not nearly as well-muscled. His face wearing the fierce scowl it always does, he seems to be searching the night sky. Looking for something that isn't there. Like a planet.  
  
I feel my heart contract. He wouldn't appreciate pity, but I can't help it. To be so alone...I want to say something comforting, but I know words are worse than useless.   
  
Instead I yell, "Are you going to stand there all night, or do you want to eat before it gets cold??"  
  
His expression doesn't change. I wonder if he knew I was there staring at him after all. "That substance you claim is food will hardly taste any worse a few degrees colder. Leave me be."  
  
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Baka woman. Staring at me like that. What does she want?  
  
When I come down, she is nowhere to be seen. The food is all right. I can't taste anything anyway. My foul mood turns it all to ash on my tongue.  
  
I go upstairs and strip out of my clothes. I'm too tired to shower; instead I crawl into the bed and fall into a fitful sleep.  
  
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I wake up in the middle of the night, my heart pounding. For an instant I have no idea what awakened me, until I hear another muffled shout from the next room. I argue with myself for a while about waking him up. But I can't fall back asleep with him moaning like that, and this dream seems especially bad.  
  
I open his door and gently shake his shoulder. His whole body is tense, fists balled into the sheets. "Vegeta--"  
  
Suddenly I find myself pinned to the bed with his hands around my neck, an instant away from snapping it. His eyes widen and he lets go.  
  
"What are you doing in here?"  
  
I'm not sure what to say. "Um, you were dreaming..."  
  
"And that gives you the right to come in here and disturb me?!"  
  
"Baka! I couldn't sleep through your shouting! And I was worried..." This last part was said softly, not meant for him to hear.  
  
I think he hears. He seems to glare down at me even more furiously.  
  
"You almost got yourself killed. I think you should go now," he adds pointedly.  
  
Ignoring him, I ask, "...What were you dreaming about?"  
  
No answer. Not that I'd expected one. "Planet Vegeta?"  
  
He flinches. Score one for Bulma. But still no verbal answer.  
  
"It must have been horrible, your whole world gone in an instant."  
  
He walks over and faces the window, his back to me. Silence. I wonder if I have said too much. In the cold moonlight, wearing only shorts, he looks like a finely chiseled marble version of himself. Finally, he turns around.  
  
"Woman, you have no idea what you are talking about. You can't possibly understand. Now get out." But the faintest flicker in his eyes begs me to do otherwise.  
  
Slowly, I walk up to him, and put my arms around him. I expect him to shrug me off, but he doesn't. The only response is the tiniest of sighs, a quick exhalation of air. Other than that it is like holding a warm statue.  
  
"You don't have to talk to me. But you can, if you ever want to." I release him and walk back to my room, before he regains his senses enough to kick me out.  
  
------------------------------------  
  
I berate myself mercilessly for allowing her to touch me. I had been caught off-guard. Unnerved first by the dream, and then by my actions. I'd very nearly killed her. That disturbs me more than I care to admit. As many lives as I have taken, I have never done it in my sleep, unaware. I can still see her, eyes wide, her hair spread out on my bed. The dark silk robe pools around her like blood, slipping apart to show some pale silky thing she sleeps in. The scent of her fear still assails my senses. And yet, I don't think she really fears me. My reaction just caught her by surprise.  
  
I can't imagine telling her about the destruction of my planet. My people. Words can't convey the magnitude of that loss. Kakarot is the only person I have told, because whatever he might think, they were his people, too. Perhaps it helped him defeat Frieza. Which I failed to do.   
  
I curse her for invading the private domain of my personal hell, and then having the nerve to embrace me like a lost child. I curse myself even more for letting her do it. I don't need her pity! From a human!   
  
But the thought that she might care what happened warms me just a little, against my will. I fall asleep hating myself for being weak...  
  
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End Chapter 2  
  
I just wanted to thank everyone who took the time to review chapter 1. This is the first time I've ever posted anything and I was a bit apprehensive about it. The positive feedback was very encouraging. Which isn't to say that only positive comments are welcome. My knowledge of DBZ isn't perfect and if I make any major errors I'd like to know.  
  
I have a lot more to write on this subject -- I think about 10 chapters total. Please email me at sango_chan@hotmail.com if you would like me to notify you when a new chapter is posted.  
  
Thanks again for taking the time to read this :) 


	3. Confrontation

insert standard disclaimer here. I don't own Dragonball Z or any of the characters.  
  
Unexpected, ch 3  
Confrontation  
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I knock, tentatively at first, then louder. I wish I had just called, but I felt that this was something best done in person.  
  
He opens the door, gorgeous as ever. The scar on his cheek makes him look like somewhat of a ruffian, but all I can think about for a moment is what it used to feel like to run my fingers through all of that hair.  
  
"Hey Babe! How's it going?"  
  
I fight the pull of his charisma, and the desire to throw myself into his arms and tearfully confess everything.  
  
"Yamucha..."  
  
"Yeah sweets, what's up? You look terrible, no offense. Come in and sit down."  
  
I follow him inside and try not to think of all the time we've spent on that couch. Laughing, watching movies, making out...it feels like years ago. Has it really only been a couple of months?  
  
I realize I am close to tears, and force myself to talk before I totally lose it.  
  
"There's something I need to tell you." He looks concerned. I close my eyes.   
  
"After we broke up, I found out I was pregnant...but before I was even sure, I miscarried." I swallow the lump in my throat and steel myself to look up at his face.  
  
His eyes are a mixture of sorrow, relief, and regret. I don't think he knows what to feel first.  
  
"Bulma, I'm sorry. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"  
  
"I-I don't know. I guess I needed some time to deal with it first."  
  
It's useless. My wounds are still raw and the longing for him hasn't lessened at all. But neither has my conviction that he can never return my love. A tear escapes.  
  
He sighs. I know he understands everything. He wraps me in his arms and rests his chin on my head. "I'm so sorry..." he says, and I know he isn't just talking about the baby. I can _feel_ his regret, that he can't give me the love I crave. My heart is breaking.  
  
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She was the last person I expected to see this morning, forlorn and miserable on my doorstep. I knew that she was determined to be strong, and give herself time to heal, before we tried to resume being friends. So her visit, and her news, totally blew me away.  
  
My heart aches for her, having to go through that all alone. I hate myself for not being man enough to make her happy. I don't know what is wrong with me. I can see how great she is, but my eyes always wander, and I wonder if the grass really is greener. I didn't fight her when she wanted to break up, because I truly think she deserves better.  
  
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I curse her, for invading my training, my thoughts, and my dreams. For daring to care about me. I don't need her. I am 100 times too good for her, and I hate the fact that I have gone for days without remembering how much I despise this miserable ball of mud and all of its inhabitants. I wish, not for the first time, that they had left me dead.  
  
Since I am not, I dedicate myself instead to making her life miserable. I rain creative insults down upon her cooking, her figure, her hair, her intelligence, her face. I find myself wanting to see her smile, so perversely I endeavor to make her hate me.  
  
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When I get back, all I can think about is sleep. I don't want to see anyone. Vegeta tries to provoke me but I don't even hear him. He yells something about food, or the gravity room needing repair. But he will have to physically pull me out of bed for that to happen. I'm not doing anything but lying here trying to forget how good it was to be held by him again.  
  
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I don't know what to make of this new development. No arguing, no tears. Nothing I do elicits a response from her. I am starving, but I know that this time, nothing I do will get her out of that bed to prepare a meal. Baka human woman! Hopefully there is something around that doesn't require cooking.  
  
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I guess I was like a time bomb just waiting to explode. The next day he goes too far.  
  
"Woman! Get your ass out here and fix this! Continuing to pine after that loser isn't going to make him love you!"  
  
How dare he! I throw off the covers and storm outside, not caring that I am only wearing a flimsy nightgown. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I revel in the fact that it will make him uncomfortable.  
  
"Woman!--"  
  
I ball up my fist and throw a punch at him, remembering to hold my wrist like he'd shown me and throwing all of my momentum into the blow. I must have hit him in just exactly the right spot, because blood starts to trickle from his nose.  
  
I smirk. "Too weak to do damage, even if I manage to connect?"  
  
Of course, now he is going to hurt me.  
  
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For one full second, I am shocked speechless, rendered immobile. She _dares_ to strike a Prince?!? I hardly felt the blow, but can't believe she managed to draw blood. It might have actually hurt a human.  
  
I advance on her and see the terror in her eyes, but she refuses to give ground. Her chin lifts and she glares at me through glittering narrowed slits. I admire her courage even as I plan to kill her.  
  
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Not bothering to wipe the blood from his face, my death approaches. I stare, fascinated, at the bright crimson languidly trailing down over the crest of that cold, perfect, mouth.  
  
His low voice is more like a growl than human speech. "Woman. On my planet you would already be dead. There is only one reason you are not. I need that gravity room to train -- Fix it."  
  
The menace in his tone sends icy tremors down my spine. But I am not done with him yet.  
  
"Why should I? You don't seriously expect me to believe you have any intention of defending this world from the androids. I'm tired of putting it back together just so you can blow it apart again!"  
  
He sneers, "Why _should_ I care about this pathetic excuse for a planet!? There is nothing of value here. Originally, when we came to conquer and sell it, we weren't expecting a very high price--"   
  
I almost hit him again.  
  
"The only thing you care about is yourself. And beating Goku. Somehow you think that killing him will make your miserable existence worthwhile. But I have a question for you -- what if you finally beat him? What then??" I am screaming at him by now.   
  
"What will you do when your life's only purpose is gone? Die?"  
  
"YES!! Yes, I _should_ have died! With all of them!!"  
  
I stare at him in shock. His eyes close. Immediately I know he never intended to say that out loud. Before I can react, he is gone.  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
"The only thing you care about is yourself. And beating Goku--" her words echo in my head.   
  
She is half wrong. I don't much care about myself.  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
End Chapter 3  
  
Comments welcome. Email me at sango_chan@hotmail.com if you'd like to be notified of updates. Thanks for reading :)  
  



	4. Encounter

insert standard disclaimer here. I don't own Dragonball Z or any of the characters.  
  
Unexpected, ch 4  
Encounter  
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"YES!! Yes, I _should_ have died! With all of them!!"  
  
His anguished cry echoes in my head. Them. The entire planet of people wiped out by Frieza. How can he feel such guilt over their demise? What does he think he could have done to prevent it?  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
The last thing I want is to ever set eyes upon this place, or _her_, again. But I have nowhere else to go. I certainly don't want to be around Kakarot and his half-breed spawn.  
Sometime in the middle of the night I return, glad at least that all of the lights are out.  
  
I see her in my head, the way she looked that first time on Namek. Beautiful -- until she opened her mouth. The image changes to the whirling blue fury descending on me this morning. The only reason she managed to land a punch at all is that I was totally mesmerized. The shift she was wearing barely covered her, and the wind was whipping it and her hair around wildly. With the lightning blue of her flashing eyes it was like a sky elemental had appeared to do battle. When she is angry, she is totally fearless.  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
Another nightmare, but this time, when I open the door, he is already awake. His eyes glint coldly at me from the bed.  
  
"You aren't needed here."  
  
I start to leave, but something makes me turn back. I catch a hint of terrible sadness and self-loathing in his eyes, before his shields are thrown up again. So much hate, but most of it directed inward. My heart twists.   
  
I gather my courage, and take the plunge.  
  
"Vegeta. It wasn't your fault. There wasn't anything you could have done."  
  
I gasp. His hands are around my neck, and I can barely breathe. I never saw him move. Fury radiates from him like heat from a furnace. "I told you, get out!"  
  
"The best you could have done is died with them!" I manage to choke out. "What would that have accomplished?"  
  
"A true prince would have died with his people! What am I now? I am prince of nothing -- a dead planet and a nonexistent people! I couldn't even avenge them! Why didn't you leave me dead?" The last part was almost a moan.  
  
Suddenly I understand his obsession with defeating Goku. He had done the task Vegeta could not; achieving Super Saiya-jin and defeating Frieza. Apparently it doesn't matter that Frieza and his father didn't truly die until the appearance of that other boy. His chance for vengeance had been taken away.  
  
He looks like he truly wants to throttle me, but I know he is just trying to scare me enough to leave him alone. I reach up between the circle of his arms and cup his face with my hands. I refuse to let him frighten me away.  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
I want so desperately for her to leave. I can't believe how close I am, once again, to tears. I've only cried once since I was beaten within an inch of my life for it when I was four or five. Just once, right before my death. The memory makes me burn with shame.  
  
I release her neck and grab her shoulders to throw her away from me, but the pain and the terror and the guilt all recede a bit when she is there. The ghosts of my past are no match for the bright fury blazing in her eyes. Their icy fingers melt away with her touch and the moon turns her hair into a halo of blue that dazzles my vision, turning back the rising tide of darkness that threatens to swallow me. Instead of dashing her from me, I find myself grasping her like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline.  
  
Her arms slip around my neck and draw my face down to hers. All of my Saiya-jin strength is useless against her gentle determination. Her lips brush mine, as soft as breath, and I taste the tang of salt. After a moment of horror --Not again!--, I realize the tears are hers. Crying for me?  
  
I must be nearly crushing the life out of her, but she says nothing. I close my eyes and inhale the scent of her. For a moment, I am completely at peace.  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
This, this is what I've longed for, seemingly all my life. He kisses me desperately, like a man gone so long without water that he is afraid it will vanish, like a desert mirage, before he can drink. Yamucha never needed me like this. His arms crush me, but I don't mind. I want to stay like this forever. I draw him down on the bed with me, wanting his fire to consume me completely, burning out the pain and loneliness that have been my constant companions for so long...  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
I feel her tremble underneath me, and my whole body reacts to her nearness. The cooling touch of her soft skin sets my senses on fire. I nearly give myself up to the rush, forgetting everything, but a voice shouts in my head, "NO! She is making you weak! You will never reach your goals if you allow yourself to be distracted like this. What are you thinking? She is only a mere human!"  
  
I break away roughly, throwing her off and rising out of the bed in one violent motion. The taste of her is still on my lips. "Get away from me, slut!" My voice is ice. "I'm not interested in anything you have to offer."  
  
Cheeks burning, she pulls the edges of her robe tightly around herself and looks at the floor.   
  
"Filthy human, you disgust me!"  
  
I take off through the open window, but not quickly enough to escape the crystal tears that fill those blue, blue eyes.  
  
--------------------------------------  
End Chapter 4  
  
Thanks for reading. Please let me know if you think I'm failing to keep them in character.  
  
Email me at sango_chan@hotmail.com if you want to be notified of updates.  
  
*shameless plug*   
  
Chapter 5 is almost done, but I'm also trying my hand at a comedy, Vegeta Nibunnoichi. It's not a crossover, but it will only make sense to Ranma 1/2 fans...  



	5. Longing

insert standard disclaimer here. I don't own Dragonball Z or any of the characters. 

Unexpected, ch 5   
Longing   
-------------------------------------- 

I allow myself to cry a little as I walk back to my room. Well, it's not like I could stop anyway. Whatever I might try and tell myself, we both know I have offered myself and been rejected. 

Yet part of me is glad. What had I almost _done_? 

It's the middle of the night, but I really need a bath. His words have made me feel so tarnished and dirty. I can't believe I threw myself at him like that. 

Did I only imagine he could want me? 

-------------------------------------- 

I sit outside in a tree, trying to catch my breath and collect my thoughts. Desire still burns through my veins, but it is being swiftly overtaken by anger. How dare she presume that I would want her paltry human love? 

A light flashes on in the house, momentarily blinding me. The woman walks into her bathroom and I start. But it's impossible for her to see me out here in the dark, from inside that brightly lit room. I can see the determination not to cry as if it were written upon her face. 

She begins to disrobe and I shut my eyes. Baka. In front of an open window, for the world to see! Of course, it is the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, and she hardly expects there to be someone sitting outside in a tree directly adjacent to the building. 

I open my eyes hoping she is already in the bath and out of sight, but instead fight to inhale. My lungs refuse to fill with air. 

She is seated in front of a mirror, brushing out her pale, satiny hair. A tiny frown is the only sign of any inner turmoil. The rest of her bearing is completely composed, and her eyes are clear. 

I, on the other hand, am fighting not to fall out of the tree. I think that this image has been seared onto my brain forever. I had seen more of her before, of course, that night in the woods, but this is completley different. The long, pale expanse of creamy leg, leading up to the graceful curve of hip to waist. A hint of round breast showing as she raises the brush. The skin of her back, as smooth as milk. And the shining waterfall of blue cascading down her back and spilling over her shoulders, almost concealing her breasts. She lacks the lithe musculature of a real woman, but no Saiya-jin ever had hair like that. 

I know that to touch it would be like running my hand through a cloud of silk, and feel a sharp pang of regret, seeing all that I have callously spurned tonight. 

She is totally unworthy of me! Furious at her, and myself, I snap off the branch I am holding and take off. To anywhere but here. 

-------------------------------------- 

It's been weeks, and I have no idea where he is. I suppose he can take care of himself. 

I know, now, why he has gone. It wasn't my imagination, that he could need me. In my heart I know I'm not deceiving myself when I remember the tide of emotions I felt from him when we kissed. He has never depended on anyone but himself, and the thought that he might require anything from another drives him mad. His pride forces him to leave. To get as far away as possible. 

I don't really expect to see him again, at least not until we all gather to confront the androids. 

I miss him terribly, and know that I have traded one impossible love for another. For a moment I hate Goku and Chichi, for having a normal love, and each other. All I have ever had was one man who couldn't love me, as hard as he tried, and another that tried with all of his might not to. 

-------------------------------------- 

I blast another tree. 

Training out in the wilderness has been less than pleasant. I tire of eating only whatever meat I can kill, constantly aware of the progress I am not making without that stupid machine. 

She is an obstacle to my path! I can't let go of my goals. They have been my only reason for living for so long. 

But I have lost. Nothing I do allows me to escape her face. 

I leave the ground and fly toward that place without bothering to check my position. Something draws me strongly enough that I think I could find it blindfolded. I convince myself I am returning only for the training room and a decent meal, not for any infinitesimal need to see her. 

-------------------------------------- 

With no meals to fix or gravity machine to repair, I fill my time trying to develop a weapon that might be effective on the approaching enemy. But it's nearly impossible to figure out a way to destroy something when you have no idea at all how it works. 

I sigh in frustration and rub my aching temples. 

"You're even uglier when you frown like that." 

I nearly jump out of my skin. 

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, he looks at me as if unsure of his welcome -- for an instant, anyway. Before I can blink he is once again the picture of royal arrogance. I want to wipe that infuriating smirk off of his face. 

-------------------------------------- 

She scowls at me, but I think she is glad to see me. She turns back to whatever pointless project she is working on and proceeds to ignore me. I shrug and turn to leave. I'm no longer quite sure why I came to see this baka human. 

"Hmph. I suppose you're hungry." 

-------------------------------------- 

I hope against all reason that something besides training and a hot meal has brought him back. Nothing has really changed. We still fight all of the time, but I feel like I am just going through the motions. I can't bring myself to hate him for anything anymore. I've seen too deeply into him to take it seriously when he says some of the outrageous things that used to make me so mad. 

Most of the time, anyway. 

"Woman! You call this shit _food_??" 

"You will eat it and LIKE it!!" 

I decide to have some fun, and program little 'surprises' into the gravity chamber. Nothing big: the controls zapping him when he enters, the lights shutting off in the middle of the day and refusing to turn back on, stuff like that. Nothing that looks intentional. 

It doesn't cause him any real harm, and the resulting sizzle and his startled shout sure make _my_ day. 

-------------------------------------- 

She is so easy to provoke, and I know all of the right buttons to push by now. Making her constantly irritated at me keeps her at a comfortable distance. 

She spends most of her time in that lab. I don't really care enough to ask what it is she's working on. 

I have more pressing matters on my mind. I still haven't managed to reach the next level, even with the improvements I demanded she make to this piece of junk. I am running out of time! Every day I fail is another day for Kakarot to widen the gulf between us. I know he is not wasting any time. He is a third-class warrior and an idiot and I can't understand _how_ his powel level can be above mine! 

Driven mad by frustration, I increase the settings far beyond the level I have been training at. The pain is unbelievable, but I refuse to stop. The thought of dying does not bother me nearly as much as facing another day of failure. 

Rising off the ground, back arched, head thrown back, every muscle tensed, I reach within myself. The power blazes through my entire being like liquid fire. I scream with the pain of it, but also from exhilaration. I can't see anything through the blinding light around me, but I feel stronger than ever before! I am so close-- 

-------------------------------------- 

An explosion causes me to drop the delicate circuit I have spent hours building and curse in frustation. Damn!-- 

Vegeta! I immediately know that this is much worse than his usual daily destruction of my machine. What has he done to himself now? 

Running outside, I see the remains of my gravity machine but no sign of him. I have never known such fear. I start throwing sharp metal around in a blind panic, heedless of my shredded skin. 

Finally, a hand. I heave a large sheet of wall off of him that I'm sure I could never have lifted normally. 

He looks worse than I have ever seen him, but his chest still rises. 

-------------------------------------- 

"What do you have, a death wish?!?" 

I groan inwardly. I must not be dead, if I can still hear her irritating voice. I was so close... 

She tries to pick me up, shocking my eyes open. As heavy as I am she almost manages to do it, too, until I shake her off. 

"Woman, leave off!" 

"You idiot! What were you trying to do!" 

I ignore her, and by some amazing feat of strength manage to pull myself to my feet. Determined to get as far away from her as possible, I start walking to the house. 

I don't make it very far before I feel myself falling. She grabs my arm, and I notice blood dripping from her hands. It isn't mine. She must have cut herself trying to free me. Baka. 

I wish I could refuse her help, but on my own I will never make it there before I pass out. The humiliating thought of someone having to carry me makes me bite my tongue and permit her to guide me inside. 

-------------------------------------- 

So much pride. I don't know how, but we manage to make it up the stairs to his room. He steps away from me and walks slowly to the bed himself, as if to say, _you see? I didn't need your help!_ He collapses on top of the sheets, white with the effort of hiding his pain from me. 

"Take that shirt off and let me dress those." I order. I am not asking, and he is too weak to defy me. 

"Woman, just leave me the hell alone!" If looks could kill, I would be a smoldering corpse. But they can't, and he's in no shape to do anything else. 

I strip the shirt off myself, inhaling sharply. He is covered in lacerations and bruises. Some of the gashes will have to be stitched. I return downstairs for supplies from the infirmary. 

He says nothing under my ministrations, and I try not to hurt him, but every time I touch him he flinches in pain. 

-------------------------------------- 

She thinks she is hurting me, but the truth is that the light touch of her gentle hands is driving me crazy. I shut my eyes against it and endure. 

Thankfully, the last of my reserves is soon depleted and I lose consciousness. 

-------------------------------------- 

I watch him sleep. I stroke his forehead, something he would never permit me to do if he were awake. I rise, stretch, and pull a chair up beside the bed. I should leave but I want to reassure myself that he's really going to be okay. 

He looks so tired. He pushes himself beyond normal endurance. I wish that I had half of his determination. 

-------------------------------------- 

I wake to the faint scent of spice, just enough to thrill. Looking down, I see the source: gossamer blue strands blanketing my arm and shoulder. Her head is pillowed on her arms, facing me. I don't know exactly how much time has passed, but it's late. She must have fallen asleep, watching over me. I won't admit that I am strangely glad. 

Against my will, almost of its own accord, my hand rises from the sheets. Slowly, determined not to wake her, I stroke the pale cheek. Her skin is an enigma, at once warm and cool under my fingers. 

Her eyes open and I am lost in pools of blue, like the deep clear hue of a bottomless lake. 

Neither of us speak. Some scathing comment is on my lips, preparing to force her out, but I am too drained at the moment to fight this. I capitulate. 

There is no moon tonight. Her eyes seem to burn with a luminosity all their own. Her lips part. "You could have--" 

I place a finger on them to shut her up, and draw her down next to me. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

I can't believe what is happening. I never, never thought he would touch me of his own volition, much less with anything resembling tenderness in his eyes. I am undone. I can't stop tears from coming. 

His hands are so gentle, bringing my lips to his, and burying themselves in my hair. He devours me hungrily, biting my lower lip softly, but I detect a hint of hesitation. I can't figure it out. I've never seen him unsure of anything. Does he think I will reject him? Can't he see that I am totally his, and could no more tell my heart to stop beating? 

Suddenly I know. I remember the scars on his back, and the life he has led. Some of the wounds must have been dealt in battles, but others looked suspiciously like lash marks. So many I couldn't count them. I don't think he's ever been allowed to get close to anyone. Ever. 

Instinct takes over, and his hands glide across my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. But deep inside I feel his fear of not knowing exactly where to go from here. 

I pull him close and teach him. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------   
End Chapter 5 

To avoid confusion, no, this isn't the end of the story! Not even close -- I was originally planning on 10 chapters but now I think it will be a couple more :) 

I told you my knowledge of DBZ isn't perfect, and I've made my first major gaffe. I'm pretty sure Piccolo has blown up the moon, but I continue to refer to it. Sorry :) 

Thanks for reading. 

email me at [sango_chan@hotmail.com][1] if you want to be notified of updates. 

I have no shame. Last chapter I mentioned my other story, [Vegeta Nibunnoichi][2], and now I'm promoting the [fan art][3] I did to go along with it. Check it out if you'd like to see what Vegeta looks like as a girl... 

:) 

   [1]: mailto:sango_chan@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?action=story-read&storyid=275402
   [3]: http://kagome.8m.com/cgi-bin/i/images/veg_onna.jpg



	6. Denial

Hi everyone :) As some of you probably noticed, I've gone back and replaced "Saiyan" with "Saiya-jin" in previous chapters. I just think it sounds better. I also want to say thanks for all the reviews. The first chapters seemed to write themselves, but it's getting harder to make sure things turn out the way I want. Knowing a few people actually care if I finish this or not helps :)  
  
insert standard disclaimer here. I don't own Dragonball Z or any of the characters.  
  
Unexpected, ch 6  
Denial  
  
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The sun shines in my eyes. I frown; the angle is all wrong. I should have been up hours ago. Suddenly I become aware of _her_, wrapped up in my arms, her head on my chest. The tickling sensation of silky hair on my bare skin is unbearable.  
  
I close my eyes and silently curse myself, and her. How did I let it come to this? Filled with anger at my weakness, I start to rise. My movement wakes her, and she reaches up to touch my face with a hand still heavy from sleep.  
  
I flinch away. The cuts on her palm scream guilt at me. Another way I have caused her harm. Everything has changed, and yet nothing is different. I finally admit to myself that I regret causing her pain. But there is no room in my life for this weakness. I must give everything I have to my training if I am ever going to surpass Kakarot. There is nothing left of me for anything else.  
  
I know that I can't love her the way she desires, any more than that human could. I don't want to, and I'm not sure that I even know how.  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
He moves away from my touch, disgust in his eyes. My heart falls. But he doesn't rain insults down upon me for tainting his royal person with my unworthy human embrace.   
  
His contempt is directed at himself. I don't understand. "Vegeta--"  
  
"Woman. This isn't going to work." Stone has more warmth than his expression.  
  
"What do you--"  
  
A sneer. "Let me explain more clearly, since you seem to have trouble understanding. I don't want this. I don't want you." He turns to leave.   
  
I know he isn't just going out to train. He's not coming back.  
  
My pride won't let me say anything else, for fear of letting a sob escape. I curl my knees up to my chest and watch as the finely sculpted back I had embraced a only a scant few hours before moves toward the door. He stops, and turns around.  
  
I close my eyes, arms wrapped around myself as if to keep all the pieces of my shattered heart together. I can't look at him.  
  
"Woman." He steps closer, but I refuse to meet his eyes. I can't bear the lack of emotion in them.  
  
"Woman." More insistent, but pointless. I am not going to look at him. I wish he would leave me before I can no longer hold back the storm of tears. A single droplet escapes the prison of my eyelashes and slowly trails down my cheek, dripping like liquid fire into a small wound near the hollow of my throat. A bite, given in the heat of passion, though at the time it had seemed almost deliberate, and carefully done.  
  
"Bulma."   
  
Shock forces my eyes open before I can do anything to prevent it. There is no cruelty in his face, but no compassion, either.   
  
"I can't be what you want." He turns to leave.  
  
I cover my face with my hands as I am, once again, all alone.  
  
My name on his lips was hopelessly sweet. I wasn't sure he even knew it. To hear it now is like a knife twisting in my heart.  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
I am torn between wanting to stay there forever, and wishing I might never set foot there again. I feel like I am leaving a piece of myself behind, something vital, but I press on.   
  
I have things I must do. I will never reach my full potential, there with her. Being around her undermines my resolve and puts strange thoughts in my head. I am no longer in control. Such weakness is unacceptable.  
  
I know that I am doing the right thing. She is better off as well.   
  
--------------------------------------  
  
I have some pride. I am too strong to let this defeat me. I put the pieces of my life back together and go on. Pushing all thoughts of him completely from my mind, I throw myself into my work. In spite of my efforts, I have not made much progress to date, but I am determined to give it all that I can. I spend time with my parents, knowing that time is short. They love me, but they are clueless -- completely oblivious to everything that has occurred. I don't feel like telling them.  
  
I actually manage to do a decent job of forgetting about him, at least during the day. But at night, I wake sometimes, listening for a voice that isn't there, longing for the embrace of absent arms. As time goes on, I start to heal, but I don't think anything will ever completely fill the void. I know that there will never be anyone else. You can't replace the other half of yourself.  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
She looks different. I can tell something major has gone down as soon as I open the door. Some of the steel in her spine is absent, and she looks more vulnerable and heartsore than I have ever seen her. There are tears on her face, and she is completely soaked from walking here in the downpour outside.  
  
"Baka. Where is your coat?" I move to let her come in.  
  
She doesn't answer, and almost drops to her knees. Worried for her, I pick her up easily in my arms and carry her inside. She buries her face in my neck and sobs quietly. I can't imagine what has brought Bulma to this state. She was always so much stronger than I.  
  
I don't ask, I know she will talk when she can. I bring her some dry clothes and have to help her put them on. Covering her with a blanket, I sit next to her and wait.  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
Oh, Yamucha, your gentleness is worse than any insult he ever laid upon me. I can't bear it. Even now, part of me wishes things had been different. That you had been able to give me what I needed and spare me all of this.  
  
I came here to tell him; I had nowhere else to go. But I just can't make myself think about it now. Instead I lay my head in his lap, and close my eyes, exhausted. His hand caresses my damp hair and I sleep.  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
"I'm pregnant."   
  
I jump. I had been dozing off myself, and had no idea she was awake.  
  
"What?" I say, reflexively. She knows that I heard and doesn't repeat herself. I know it can't be mine. Who could she possibly have been with?  
  
I open my mouth to ask, but she strikes preemptively and says, "Vegeta."  
  
I am sure that the image of me with my mouth hanging open like a fish would have been comical, if anyone had been around to see it. For a moment I am too surprised for coherent thought.  
  
Something else must be wrong, for her to be this upset. My heart constricts. "Did he force himself on you?" The idea makes my blood run cold. Oh, Bulma.  
  
"No! No, it wasn't like that. I was willing. He regretted it though, and left." More softly: "He doesn't even know."  
  
I know there is more she's not telling me. He has managed to hurt her more than I ever did.  
  
Fury consumes me. Rage fills my head until I can't even see. I didn't let her go so that that arrogant Saiya-jin bastard could seduce her, knock her up and break her heart, again! Can't he see what a treasure he has so carelessly tossed away?   
  
I am tormented by guilt. I know that if I had been able to love her the way she wanted, none of this would have happened. I hate myself for not leaving here right now and going to beat the shit out of him, but I know that I am no match for him. I would only die. The only one who can kick Vegeta's ass is Goku, and I know without asking that she doesn't want me to tell him.  
  
I swear to myself that I am going to do everything in my power to make this as easy on her as possible. I will be there for her, as long as she needs me. It's time I grew up.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Yamucha probably saved me from going insane. His support was the only thing keeping me going for a while. I don't know how I'm going to do this alone. I can't take responsibility for a child...   
  
I've told my parents; that was the worst part. But they surprised me by saying they were behind me 100 percent.  
  
I sit, by the window, staring into nothing. I feel completely drained. I wonder if _he_ would even care, if he knew. I am afraid that I know the answer.  
  
Yamucha comes over in the evening, as has been customary for the last couple of months. I find his company immensely preferable to the emptiness of my lonely thoughts. He makes me laugh, forgetting to feel sorry for myself. A child should grow up with laughter, not a mother who wishes every morning that she could just stay in bed forever.  
  
He crosses the room and kisses my cheek. The child stirs for the first time, and I smile with unexpected pleasure. I have to share this with someone. "Yamucha, here..." I grab his hand and place it on the barely discernible flutter. His eyes widen and he laughs out loud with the abandon of a child.  
  
His expression sobers. There is regret in his eyes, and I know he is thinking of another child: ours. I see now that he would have been a wonderful father. So caring, so gentle.   
  
"Bulma...I wanted to tell you...I wouldn't mind, if you want to tell people the child is mine."   
  
I see in his eyes, that he isn't just offering to let the child have his name. If I accept, he will raise it with me, as his own. It brings tears to my eyes, to know that he would willingly raise another man's child. For me.   
  
I think he's finally starting to learn what it is to love.  
  
I am so tempted. I feel so alone, too frightened to do this by myself. And it seems he finally wants to be all that I had dreamed of. I care for him deeply; he is my best friend.  
  
But now it is I that must let him go; I can't love him in that all-consuming, total giving of oneself as I once had done. To accept his offer would be to wrong him unforgivably. I can't bear the thought.  
  
I look at him, and shake my head, overcome with emotion and unable to speak. He nods in understanding, and proves again how much he has grown. He continues to sit with me, lightly bantering in an effort to improve my mood, instead of storming out of the room in a torrent of hurt anger, as the old Yamucha would have done.  
  
I ache. Oh Yamucha, why did you have to wait until now to love me? My heart is no longer mine to give...  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
I peer through the window. I don't know why I'm here; I just know that I have this wild desire to see her that won't subside until I do. I only want to see that she is all right, to contradict the nagging feeling of wrongness that has been invading my thoughts of late. She is still as beautiful as ever, sitting with her back to me, reading some silly book.   
  
In spite of myself, I move to join her. I had not intended her to see me, but I can't resist.  
  
My hand is on the latch, when _he_ walks in. I can't believe it.   
  
I should have known that she would go running back to him.  
  
She stands to greet him, smiling. The gentle curve of her belly indicates that she is very obviously pregnant. He walks over and they embrace. His lips brush her cheek with an intimacy that stirs my blood into a boiling rage.  
  
An unfamiliar emotion grips me and I get the hell out of there before I have time to figure out what it is.  
  
--------------------------------------  
End Chapter 6  



	7. Need

First of all, thanks! This story broke 100 reviews after last chapter. Yay :) 

Next, I have done an [illustration][1] for this fic. Please check it out and let me know what you think: [sango_chan@hotmail.com][2]. 

Also email me if you'd like to be notified when future chapters are posted. 

Insert standard disclaimer here. I don't own Dragonball Z or any of the characters. 

Unexpected, ch 7   
Need 

-------------------------------------- 

The dream is always the same. Vejitasei, my home, destroyed by a ball of energy cast from Frieza's hand. It moves so painfully slowly, but the planet has no chance of escape. His maniacal laughter combines with the scream of billions of voices in my head to create an intolerable cacophony of sound. I know only the all-consuming desire for vengeance, and the utter despair of knowing I have not the power to accomplish it. Yet. I am determined to gain it somehow. Whatever it takes. It's the least I can do for still being alive. I cannot quell the intense relief I feel, for not being there with them, and I am shamed by my cowardice. I am not worthy of my title. 

I know I am dreaming, but there is no one here to wake me now, and I am powerless to escape its clutches on my own. It continues, and I find myself once again reliving my death at the hand of Frieza. I feel again his tail around my neck, holding me suspended above the ground while his fists pummel my broken body mercilessly. He taunts me and ridicules my lack of power. The despair is overwhelming. I no longer fight him, because I know I cannot win and wish it just to end. I have come so far, and yet still have failed. I am not a Super Saiya-jin. I am nothing. 

Kakarot finally arrives, and quickly it becomes obvious how far above mine his power level is. Envy fills me, but my approaching death drains it from me almost instantly. All that matters at that moment is that he know the truth. That Frieza would at least meet his doom at the hand of a Saiya-jin, even if it would not be mine. I am bitter beyond imagining, but I force myself to choke out the words. I despise this soft-hearted imbecile, but in this instant he is the only one who can truly understand the loss of everything I held dear. In a way, that makes us brothers. I _beg_ him to avenge our planet. I even say "please". I find myself crying; it seems my shame has no limits. But the pain, frustration, anger, and terror are all too much. I have come full circle. Even now, I still don't want to die... 

I wake with a start, gasping for breath. Tears are streaming down my face, and I am grateful at least that there is no one but the moon to witness my disgraceful display of weakness. I attempt to gain control of myself, and repress a longing for something I won't admit to. 

I lived so long with the goal of defeating Frieza that it became everything to me. I devoted every waking moment to planning his destruction. I trained beyond my endurance, and then some. For someone else to walk in, show me up, and then succeed where I did not was unendurable, after all that I went through. I didn't appreciate being wished back. It was probably inevitable that with Frieza gone I would fixate on a new target: the one who made a mockery of my life's goal. I didn't know how else to live. I gave everything to my quest. Without one, I had nothing left. 

In the darkest hours of the night, I sometimes ask myself why I pursue this so single-mindedly. Until now, there has never been a need to wonder if things should have been otherwise. But now, I wonder what it would have been like to live a life not driven by the desire to kill. I wonder if I will ever know. 

I wonder what it would have been like to be able to stay there with her. 

Now, I will never know. She has moved on. The fact that it is my own fault does nothing to alleviate the pain. I've missed whatever chance there was of finding something else to live for, if such a thing is even possible for me. Relief wars with despair over this thought. 

It seems like I have been training here forever. The days run together, until I have no idea how much time has passed. I try not to think too much. My mind must remain totally focused. Except for a little sleeping and hunting for food, my time is completely devoted to increasing my power. I improve daily. Nothing else matters. Certainly not her... 

-------------------------------------- 

It begins, late one night. It's still two weeks early, by my count, and my parents are away. I am under strict orders to call Yamucha if anything happens, but I don't. At first, I just don't want to disturb him until I am sure it isn't a false alarm, but my mood changes abruptly. There is only one person I want with me now, and since that isn't going to happen, I will deal with this alone. Due to the child's unique heritage, I wouldn't have gone to the hospital anyway. There isn't much Yamucha could do besides worry about me. And I just can't face the quiet, steadfast love in his eyes tonight. 

-------------------------------------- 

I jerk out of a troubled sleep, disoriented for a minute. Something is wrong. I frown; my physical senses tell me nothing is amiss. I see nothing, and there is no sound save the leaves rustling overhead from the occasional stirring of wind. But I am unable to shake this ominous feeling and return to sleep. I cast my mind out to touch her ki. 

She is in pain, frightened and alone. _When did I become so infuriatingly attuned to her??_

Her anguish is like a siren's call and I am helpless against its pull. I have no choice but to follow. I know that I am the last person she would ever want to see again, but logic has no power against this compulsion. 

-------------------------------------- 

I pace endlessly through the darkened hallways of the house. I read somewhere that walking is supposed to help. Every few minutes I lean against the wall for support as another pain grips me. The physical torment is nothing compared to the emotional turmoil of my thoughts. Guilt, for bringing a child into the world without a father, and for not loving Yamucha enough to let him fill that role. Fear, that I will totally screw up this young life. Despair, knowing that the embrace I long for will never again be mine. And not a little bit of terror that something will go wrong and both of us could die. 

I push away from the wall as the pain ebbs, and start to resume my endless walking. 

"Shouldn't you be in one of those primitive human hospitals or something?" 

The harsh statement from behind me startles me badly and I trip over my own feet, pitching forward. Hands that belie the tone of his voice catch me easily. He holds me against himself for a lingering moment, though I tell myself he is only making sure I can stand on my own. The comforting warmth of his body causes me to melt against him. I don't really want to do this all alone. That he is actually here brings tears to my eyes. 

His voice growls softly in my ear, "I don't know how you can spend hours in that lab with all of those power tools, without losing a few fingers, as clumsy as you are." 

He turns me and tilts my chin up to look at him. I remember our last encounter, and fear what I will see. His expression is completely closed off and unreadable. Am I imagining the tiniest hint of concern in those endlessly black eyes? I'm not sure. 

He asks again, a bit more impatiently, "Why are you doing this _here_? Alone?" 

"My parents are out of town. I wasn't expecting this to happen for another couple of weeks." A bit irritated at his idiocy, I add sarcastically, "And I didn't exactly feel like explaining the tail." 

-------------------------------------- 

Tail? What does she-- It can't be-- 

"You mean, it's mine?!?" A fierce joy wells up inside of me that I can't suppress. Mine! _Mine_, not his! 

"Baka! You...ASS!" She is unable to strike me because I am still holding her arms. But her blue eyes blaze furiously at me. "Whose else would it be?!?" 

I am a bit angry now. "I saw you! That _human_ was over here, and you were hanging all over him. You let him kiss you!" 

"Yamucha? Oh, you great idiot. He is only my friend! He's at least been there for me, though, which is more than I can say--" 

She breaks off and her fingers twist into the fabric of my shirt. Words fail me. I try, the best that I can with my pride blocking the way, to explain. 

-------------------------------------- 

He strokes my back and lets me cling to him. In my ear, he whispers softly. "I don't know why I left. I didn't want to hurt you. But I couldn't...I don't know how...and then I saw you with him, and I thought..." 

I think that is the longest sentence I've ever heard from him without an insult. Did he really think I could have gone back to Yamucha? Was he actually jealous? 

The tightening eases, and I wrap my arms around his neck. I can't think anymore. The tide of pain robs me of coherent thought. I am just glad he is here. 

-------------------------------------- 

I have no idea how much longer this will go on. It seems endless. I watch over her and do all that I can to help -- basically nothing. I can't ease her pain or facilitate the process in any way. 

My being here seems to help a little, though. The fear I felt so strongly from her before has lessened considerably. 

The sun appears, trails to its zenith, and disappears below the horizon. 

She is strong, but each passing hour leaves her a little weaker. I have no experience with these matters and no idea how long this should take. I begin to worry. The child isn't actually real to me yet, but the thought that she could die pains me more than I would have thought possible. When did I start to care so much? 

-------------------------------------- 

My world narrows to pain and fathomless ebony eyes. I try to lose myself in them and escape the forces threatening to tear my body apart. In brief moments of lucidity, some part of my mind notes the concern written in his expression, the tenderness in the hand that brushes my forehead. Worried, for me? 

Finally, after one last tearing thrust, the pain fades away and I hear the piercing wail of a newborn. Its father, on his knees, is holding the wet, wrinkled child and managing to look both totally in awe and thoroughly disgusted at the mess. I extend my arms and he gladly hands it over. A boy. 

Softly, I say, "We have a son." He rises. A noncommittal grunt is the only response. He seems to have reverted back to normal. 

I examine the child like every mother since the beginning of time, counting fingers and toes. His eyes are the same vague color as all newborns, and he has very little hair. "He's beautiful..." I manage over the lump in my throat. 

His arms cross over his chest. "He's even more hideous than you, all squished up like that. Not to mention totally bald." 

I sigh. I don't think Vegeta knows how to handle these tender moments. "Baka. All babies look like this." 

After the rest of the process is complete, he helps me get comfortable. I yawn. It seems like I have been up for days. 

"Please, take him. I'm so tired..." He steps up, a lingering trace of worry barely visible in his eyes. I place the child in his arms, and the last thing I see before I pass out is him looking for all the world like I just handed him live explosives. 

-------------------------------------- 

I don't know how to sort through the feelings running though me at that moment. I can't make any sense of them, so like any other man I pretend they don't exist. She doesn't seem bothered by it. 

She hands me the child and closes her eyes. I clean him up as well as I can and wrap him in one of the repulsively cute blankets designed for that purpose. Laying him in the small bed with rails, I sit in a chair and watch her sleep. 

She is out cold and as pale as the sheet, but her breathing is deep and even. She doesn't appear to be bleeding to death, or any of the other things I had feared. The child seems to be fine as well. Thankfully, he has taken mercy on my ears and decided to sleep, too. 

I get up to leave, thinking I might as well train, since I'm up. My heart really isn't in it at the moment, though, and my head is a tangled jumble of thoughts. I long for the days when my life was simple, my purpose clear. 

I must have made some kind of sound, because I hear her whisper my name before I make it to the door. 

"Vegeta..." 

"What is it?" I am impatient to get out of this room, and away from the confusion. 

"Could you..." She gestures sleepily to the space on the bed next to her. "Just for tonight?" Heavy-lidded blue eyes compel me to acquiesce. 

"Baka. I have to train," I growl. "I don't have time to lay around. It's morning, in case you haven't noticed." 

"Please?" She is drifting off again, and I read her lips more than actually hear the word. 

I haven't slept well in more nights than I can count; the nightmares plague me constantly. After being up for a day and a half worrying about her, I am almost as exhausted as she is. 

It would feel so good to lie next to her again. I know I will not dream. But...   
"Woman. I can't promise you anything." 

"I know." 

I think she actually does. 

I slide under the blanket and pull her back against my chest, being careful not to hurt her. She raises my hand to her cheek and then kisses it. Her hair is silk under my chin and her soft warmth drives the chill from my body. I relax and slip into deep, dreamless slumber. 

--------------------------------------   
End Chapter 7 

Still not the end ;) 

sango_chan 

   [1]: http://kagome.8m.com/cgi-bin/i/images/veg_bul2.jpg
   [2]: mailto:sango_chan@hotmail.com



	8. Rivals

Insert standard disclaimer here. I don't own Dragonball Z or any of the characters. 

Unexpected, ch 8   
Rivals 

-------------------------------------- 

A piecing wail abruptly ends my all-too-brief nap. I open my eyes and glare at the ceiling. The noise doubles in volume and I transfer my withering gaze to the offending bundle of rags. Arms and legs flailing, it has worked itself into a quite a frenzy. Exasperated, I get up and give it to its mother. 

Pausing to stretch the kinks out of my back, I glance at her on my way out the door. Her eyes reveal her desire for me to stay, but she makes no move to detain me and says nothing as I leave. Relieved, I head for the gravity chamber, by way of the kitchen. 

My head is still reeling a bit from the events of the past couple of days. I find myself suddenly confronted with both a child and the knowledge that she never went back to her human lover. What does this mean? I have no answer. I still don't feel like I can stay, but can't bring myself to leave, either. I'm not really sure what my intentions are, and I don't get the chance to find out. 

-------------------------------------- 

I hadn't heard from Bulma for a day or so and I knew her parents were out of town, so I stop by to check on her sometime in the mid-afternoon. The sun is shining brightly above, but a light breeze blows through the trees, tempering the heat. Maybe she will want to go for a walk. For the last few months the cumbersome burden of the child has curtailed her usual active lifestyle, and I know she is slowly going a bit insane from the prolonged inactivity. 

I chuckle a bit. Her moods are also raging out of control, and with her restless energy she has been quite a challenge to deal with. Her father and I, being men, bear the brunt of her wrath, but I can never get mad at her. She is too cute when she's being ridiculous, and she's always sorry afterward. 

I can't stop myself from feeling like there is still a chance for us. We are closer than ever before, even when we were lovers. We talk for hours, and I know her so much better now than I ever did back then. I'm so comfortable around her, and I hope that in time, my patience will pay off, and she will once again return my feelings. I know that right now she is still too hurt to open herself up like that again. So I continue to wait, and hope. 

Armed with a pint of her latest favorite ice cream, I raise my hand to knock and nearly run headlong into a rock-solid figure as the door is abruptly thrown open. We stare at each other for an instant and then both speak at once. 

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?!" 

I can't believe he has the nerve to show his face around here. After what he did to Bulma... 

"You cold-hearted bastard." My fists clench and I fall back into my fighting stance, unconsciously. He crosses his arms and looks nonchalant, giving me that arrogant half-smile, but I can see the tension running through every muscle. He is coiled like a spring, waiting. 

"Why hello, human. To what do I owe this pleasure?" The statement is a blatant challenge, daring me to attack. His eyes are feral. 

I know I don't have a chance against him, but reason flies out the window when I think of all that Bulma has endured these past months, because of him. All of my offered comfort could only partially ease her distress. Each smile I coaxed out of her was a victory for me, but inevitably her thoughts turned to him and the shadow would return, dimming those blue eyes to a pale, sad, grey. 

I hate him for being both the source of her pain, and the one thing that could have assuaged it. 

I hate him for being here now, with her, and speaking like he owns the place. He's obviously been here a while; she must have welcomed him with open arms. A searing pain in my chest robs me of breath. My fury mounts, and I power up. 

He raises an eyebrow. "Have you been training?" The patronizing tone of his voice makes me grind my teeth. "I think you might actually last five minutes against me now," he laughs. 

I launch myself at him. 

-------------------------------------- 

Seeing him there instantly evokes a fierce, territorial, reaction. The very strength of it irritates me, that I would care so much. But the thought of him coming to pay court to her, bearing gifts, sparks fury in me like I have rarely experienced. I remember the kiss I witnessed, all those months ago, and my rage redoubles. 

I toy with him, because I can. No human will ever be a match for me. My senses come fully awake, as the adrenaline rushes through my veins. Saiyajins live for battle; it makes us feel truly alive. I drink it in. 

He comes at me, and I am pleased to note that this will be more of a decent fight than I'd first thought. He has gained some speed and power, and I underestimated the effect his feelings for the female would have on his abilities. He is positively enraged. 

I welcome the challenge, but even now some part of me longs to fight Kakarot again, to face a _real_ challenge. And win. I _must_ become stronger than him. I am the Prince! 

He takes advantage of my momentary distraction and a roundhouse kick to the jaw knocks me back a few feet. Slowly, I wipe the blood from my lip, and smile at him. This will be fun. 

-------------------------------------- 

He smiles death at me, and powers up. I hold my breath, fearing a glimpse of glowing golden hair, or blazing turquoise eyes. But my fears are unwarranted. I smile cruelly. 

"So...I see you have not been training quite as hard. Still not a Super Saiyajin?" The smirk disappears, and I can't help laughing at his reaction. "Poor Vegeta. What a pity..." 

With a scream of total fury he sends a volley of ki attacks in my direction and charges in behind them. I dodge most of the blasts, but not his fierce uppercut. I feel ribs shatter as I am launched into the air, but manage to flip around and hurl my own ki attack in his direction. 

He doesn't bother to dodge, a display of derision concerning my weak power level. Indeed, it doesn't do much damage, but more than he lets show. He holds my gaze, and laughs in my face. Any other time, I might have admired his stoicism. Instead I fall back on a verbal assault, since it seems to cause the most injury. I want him to _hurt_, like I am hurting. Physical pain is nothing compared to this. 

"You'll _never_ be as strong as Goku, you know. He'll always be one step ahead of you, no matter how hard you train." I smile. He isn't laughing anymore. 

"Shut _up_, you worthless human!" 

"I bet it eats you alive, that he's the legendary Super Saiyajin." 

He suddenly appears in the air next to me, and throws a furious series of punches, most of which penetrate my guard. I am not going to win this fight; I knew that before I started. But I will still enjoy tormenting him. 

An evil smile appears on my bloodied face. "_He_ beat Frieza, after you died crying like a little _girl_." 

I manage to duck under his attack and slam a fist into his gut, but it feels like punching a brick wall. He laces his fingers together and sends me hurtling toward the ground with a double-handed blow. Something else cracks. My arm, I think. I force myself to stand, and assume a ready stance. The bloodlust emanating from him is almost palpable; my words have nettled him into a volatile ball of fury, an instant away from exploding into uncontrolled violence. 

I laugh at him, "_You're_ the third class warrior. And you know it." 

A ki blast would finish me off easily, but I see in his eyes that nothing short of my blood on his hands will suffice. I can't stand any longer and drop to my knees. I look up and fire off my last arrow. 

"A pathetic excuse for a Prince. Your King must be rolling in his grave." 

Then I close my eyes and await the killing blow. _I'm sorry, Bulma.  
I love you_. 

"Vegeta, NO!!!" 

-------------------------------------- 

I wanted to ask him to stay, but I knew that trying to bind him closer to me would only push him farther away. He is still trying to accept the situation we've found ourselves in, and doesn't know how he wants to react. I hold fast to the thought that he must care for me, at least a little. He came, when I needed him. That has to mean something. 

I manage to feed and change the child without too much trouble, in spite of my inexperience. I have to smile, he is such a sweet baby; he is fast asleep again as soon as he is full. I drag myself downstairs to fix something to eat -- I'm starving and figure Vegeta must be as well. If I leave him to cook we might both end up with food poisoning. 

I stop dead at the bottom of the stairs, though, with a horrible feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. Vegeta?-- 

A scream of rage and a crash direct my attention outside. I run down the hall, still weak and not fully rested, and halt in shock at the sight that meets my eyes through the front door, flung open wide. Yamucha kneels on the ground, battered almost beyond recognition. Vegeta is hurtling toward him with death in his eyes. 

I can't let him kill my best friend. A man who would give anything for me. 

_He can't be wished back!_

"Vegeta, NO!!!" 

I move faster than any of us thought possible. Wild desperation. I fling myself in front of Yamucha-- 

"STOP!" 

-------------------------------------- 

She appears out of nowhere, and I don't have enough time to react. I curb my attack at the last instant, and it is almost enough. But I can't completely miss her, and I feel the impact smash into her soft, unhardened flesh like a sword through my heart. Bones snap: a rib, her collarbone. She staggers back, but remains on her feet. Pain blossoms in her eyes, and the pale shoulder exposed by the slipping neckline of her sleeping gown is blistered from the heat of my ki. 

I can't believe I struck her. 

No one moves. She is so pale you could mistake her for a statue. The only sign of life is the slight stirring of her hair in the wind. The glistening strands catch the light as they dance across her face. 

There are tears brimming in her eyes, but her jaw is clenched in fury. She faces me, and I am afraid. Not of physical harm, but of something else. An unnamed loss, the death of something that had scarcely begun... 

-------------------------------------- 

I had barely recognized him in his rage. I remember suddenly that it was not all that long ago that we were enemies, on Namek. He wouldn't have thought twice about killing me then. 

I had gotten used to seeing a different Vegeta: still proud, stubborn and arrogant, but with more depth -- even emotions. Compassion. Desire. I fear now that perhaps I saw only what my lonely heart wanted to. 

Near my feet is the melting remains of a container of ice cream. A flavor I'd found myself craving often of late, and which Yamucha, assuming the vacant role of expectant husband, had gone out to fetch many a time. I have to choke back tears. 

Yamucha. Poor Yamucha. I have caused him so much harm. 

Vegeta faces me, and his face is a total departure from his usual mask of uncaring pride. There are so many warring emotions flickering across it that I can only discern a few. Anger, shock, regret, and...fear? 

I push away any lingering concern I have for him and lash out, unhinged by the pain and guilt assaulting me. Hurt betrayal, that he would have killed my closest friend, and guilt, that Yamucha had to suffer so much, because of me. Because of his love for me that I can not return. 

"You bastard! How could you do something like this?" I move forward. He actually falls back a step. 

"Woman--" 

"You're still the same! How could I think that-- How could I ever fall in--" I draw a ragged breath, almost a sob. I poke a furious finger into his chest and continue. 

"You haven't changed at all! You live for death!" His eyes widen. 

I say what I know will wound him most. 

"You're no better than Frieza! You despise him, but how many planets have _you_ killed, Saiyajin no Ouji!" 

--------------------------------------   
End Chapter 8 

First of all, I changed my name from **sango_chan** to **Sango**. I wanted to be listed in the directory and all that. I hope it doesn't cause too much confusion. 

Secondly, please review this story if you like it. All reviews are welcome, but nice ones stroke my fragile ego and inspire me to keep writing :) 

I also now have a [forum][1] set up to discuss my fanfiction. Visit it to comment on the fics, ask questions, or make suggestions. Members and non-members are all welcome. 

Email me at [sango_chan@hotmail.com][2] if you would like to be notified of updates. 

And...chapter 2 of my other fic, [Vegeta Nibunnoichi][3], is finally up! If you know anything at all about Ranma, please check it out! 

Thanks for reading! 

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?fanaction=userforum&RoomID=1690
   [2]: mailto:sango_chan@hotmail.com
   [3]: http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?action=story-read&storyid=275402



	9. Arrival

insert standard disclaimer here. I don't own Dragonball Z or any of the characters. 

Unexpected, ch 9   
Arrival 

-------------------------------------- 

"You're no better than Frieza! You despise him, but how many planets have _you_ killed, Saiyajin no Ouji!" 

My words echo between us for an infinitely long moment. Deep remorse floods through me the instant the last syllable falls from my lips, but there is no taking them back, even should my pride allow it. He flinches as though I have dealt a mortal blow, and I see that I have hurt him much more than I would have believed possible. The twin black mirrors of his soul shatter before my eyes, leaving only emptiness behind. 

My whole being was set aflame with rage by the near murder of my closest friend, but the expression on his face is such that the fire is instantly extinguished, as though I have been plunged deep into the embrace of frigid water. Indeed, it feels as if its icy depths have closed over my head and I am plummeting toward nothingness. My skin has gone numb, and I struggle to breathe. Despair chokes me. What have I done? He allowed me the tiniest glimpse of his deepest sorrow and I have thrown it back in his face. 

I remind myself that he almost killed Yamucha, in an effort to recollect my anger, but it is of no use. I love him, and his pain is as tangible to me as my own. The enormity of his raw, silent anguish threatens to crush me and I loathe myself for causing it. I cover my mouth with a shaking hand, and reach out to him with the other. But he has already turned away, not looking back as he leaves the ground, and me. 

-------------------------------------- 

Her words are so terrible because they are true. 

She must surely hate me now, for almost killing that pathetic human -- and I have harmed her. Every mark I left on her person was instantly committed to memory; I can never forget. Even now I see her: defenseless, weak, not half a day from childbed. But so foolishly brave...In my fury, I nearly killed the only person who has dared to care about me, ever since I can remember. 

I _am_ no better than him. 

But by far the worst thing was her eyes. That unspoken emotion which illuminated their depths under my gaze had vanished, replaced by a glacial fury as different as night and day from the fiery outrage I am accustomed to when facing her wrath. I am in agony; it feels as if my heart has burst within my chest, spreading the poisonous ache through my entire being. I have to escape this place, and this time just leaving the area isn't enough. I have to get off of this wretched planet. The only comprehensible thought in my mind is that I have to get as far away from her as possible. 

-------------------------------------- 

I can't believe I'm still alive. I'll never know how she moved so quickly, or how he reacted in time to avoid killing us both. My arm throbs, but I move to wrap the other one around Bulma, who has collapsed, sobbing, at my side. 

She throws her arms around me, taking care even in her misery to avoid jarring my injured limb. She cries into my chest, and I try to give what comfort I can. 

She quiets, looking up at me, and says, "Oh Yamucha, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault--" 

I place a finger on her lips. "No, angel, it isn't." Somehow, I stand up, and offer her my good hand. She makes the effort to rise, but doesn't make it the first time. Her face is white with pain, and she has one arm held tightly against her side. I realize for the first time that she is injured as well, and silently utter a stream of curses directed at the departed Prince. 

My tirade is half-hearted, though, because I saw the look on his face when she suddenly appeared between us. He was terrified that he would kill her. I don't want to admit it, but I am unable to dislodge from my mind the conviction that he does actually care for her. 

As we walk, supporting each other, she begins to tell me of what transpired before I arrived: his return, and the birth of her child. I am rather skeptical of the gruff gentleness she describes in him, but refrain from voicing my opinion. She also tells me that his prolonged absence was due to a misunderstanding on his part about the nature of her relationship with me. 

Before today, I would have gently chided her for her naiveté in swallowing a line like that. But witnessing that one instant in which his whole heart was written across his face has given her words the unmistakable ring of truth. 

I shut my eyes tightly against the threat of tears. I know, now, that she will never again be mine. Her feelings for him run too deep -- all the way to the core. In her hour of need, it wasn't me that she wanted. Tormented sorrow lances through me so severely that I am unable to conceal it. Thankfully for my pride, she mistakes it for the pain of my injuries. 

"Yamucha! Are you all right?" Her sapphire eyes are full of worried guilt. With a Herculean effort, I manage to smile a bit and nod. Knowing I have lost her is far worse than any agony ever inflicted upon me in combat. 

But because I love her, I have to tell her the whole story. I can see that she is nearly being torn asunder by the conflict of anguished love and blinding hate for him. I want to lessen her pain as much as I am able, by letting her know that this wasn't all his fault...I provoked him beyond all possible endurance. 

-------------------------------------- 

How much guilt is it possible for one person to feel? Every time I think I have reached my limit, something else happens to push me to the next level. I turn from the swiftly fading spark in the sky that was the man to whom I have just said the worst thing possible, to find another whose unrequited love for me was very nearly the cause of his demise. He sits broken and bleeding on the ground, and still the only concern in his eyes is for _me_. I can't take any more, and I slide to the ground, weeping. 

He once again moves to comfort me, stifling an agonized gasp of pain. My anger returns in full force, too late to be of any use. Vegeta was not satisfied simply to defeat and humiliate Yamucha; he fully intended to kill him! How can I have fallen in love with someone so cold-blooded? How can he care so little for me that he would rob me of such a close friend, on my own front lawn? 

Caught between choking anger and despairing tears, I spill my heart out to Yamucha, telling him everything. He surprises me then, by confessing the things he had said to provoke Vegeta. I am shocked; Yamucha has never been the type to launch such a vicious verbal assault. The barbs were perfectly aimed at the areas where the proud Saiyajin was most vulnerable, and it is no wonder he flew into such a rage. It doesn't excuse his actions, but it helps me to finally understand. Yamucha could not have guessed the full extent to which such attacks would damage Vegeta. I am perhaps the only one who could possibly have known just how deep the guilt and anguish run beneath his thin, protective veneer of pride. 

And I knowingly used that knowledge to wound him as deeply as I could. How can I ever ask him to forgive something like that, assuming I ever see him again and have the chance to? 

-------------------------------------- 

I don't even know where it is that I finally end up. The computer does, and that is all that matters. The only thing I care about is that the planet is uninhabited and no one will bother me. I am free to train every waking moment until I collapse from exhaustion, too spent for thought. An immeasurable amount of time passes this way, in the endless cycle of sleep and exertion. I sometimes even forget to eat. 

Eventually, however, it all catches up to me. One cold midnight, I lie in the dark, too tired to move, yet sleep eludes me. Her words reverberate inside my skull until I can actually feel my sanity slipping away... 

I have killed countless numbers of sentient beings, all without regret. Entire solar systems fell by my hand. Even though I hated being Frieza's lackey, I reveled in the power and fear it afforded me. But now, thinking now of the things I've done is no longer a source of pride. It almost sickens me. Which is strange, since I don't recall changing. I feel the same. 

Can I live with the damage I have done? There is no way to make up for it. If I could go back, would I change my actions? 

No, I don't think so...after all, they have made me what I am now. Where would I be otherwise? I would never have learned the meaning of...regret. Certainly none of the 'teachers' of my youth would have impressed it upon me. 

Her comparison of me to _him_ is the deepest betrayal possible. How could I ever have been so foolish as to let her inside my head? Why did I let simple lust overpower all reason, and entangle my brain forever with thoughts of her? For there is no doubt in my mind that she will never forgive me now. All the evidence necessary was in my last glimpse of those vivid blue eyes; any feeling for me in their ocean depths had been snuffed out like a candle by the force of her fury. 

Pride has always been my only companion. It was the one thing they could not beat out of me then, and it continues to sustain me now. I am not one of those soft-hearted humans. I am the Saiyajin no Ouji; I don't need _her_, or anyone! 

My hands ball into fists, fingernails cutting into my palms hard enough to draw blood. I _will_ become a Super Saiyajin, and I will bring Kakarot to his knees before his Prince! They will all learn what true power is!-- 

A loud impact rocks the ship violently to one side, tossing me out of the narrow bed. Quickly, I scan the console display to pinpoint the source of this disturbance. A meteor shower is closing in fast -- a huge one. There is no chance of escape. Fear makes my blood run cold. 

No! I will not die like this, unnoticed on an abandoned planet in the middle of nowhere! I throw open the hatch and start blasting away at the incoming rocks. It is almost enough, but there are too many; I will never destroy them all in time. After what seems like hours of barely holding them at bay, my power starts to wane, and I reach within myself for more, and more. 

Desperation drives me to new heights. I cast away all of the mental barriers of self-preservation; I no longer have any concern over overloading and gathering more power than I can handle. The only other option is death. All thought is reduced to the primal need for survival. Within my flesh I now hold an amount of energy that should surely be the end of me, vaporizing every molecule, but somehow I contain it and seize even more. 

I stand surrounded by wildly leaping flames of power, screaming as they seem to consume my entire being from the inside out. Death is imminent, but then something snaps within me, and suddenly I _am_ the blaze. My vision sharpens, as if for my whole life up until this point I have been looking through a clouded glass. I can feel every hair on my body standing on end. Casting my arms wide, I release the energy into the midst of the storm and watch the threat fall away like so much dust. Without looking, I know that my hair has turned golden and my eyes the savage aqua of the Super Saiyajin. I laugh with exhilaration. _Finally_, I have come into my birthright! 

-------------------------------------- 

I time my breaths with the sound of my soft footfalls on the forest floor. Running is a small solace for me; the pain takes my mind off the ever-present ache in my heart. I have never wanted to take anything back as badly as that one sentence. I only hope that someday I can tell him I didn't mean it... 

Which isn't likely to happen. I don't think he is even on this planet anymore. I don't know how I know, but it seems his distaste for me outweighs even his vendetta against Goku. I would never have thought such a thing possible. 

Yamucha has fully recovered, much to my relief. But his exuberant demeanor is more subdued, and I mourn the change. I know that much of it resulted from relinquishing his impossible pursuit of me, for which I am glad. Continuing on with it would only pain us both. But it's still tragic to see the riotous colors of his ebullient nature fade like the bright foliage of autumn into the abysmal grey of winter. 

Trunks is a happy, healthy baby. He is growing like a weed. His head is capped with soft lavender silk and his eyes are the exact shade of mine. He looks nothing like his father, except when he is angry, or determined. Then, the resemblance is so strong it brings tears to my eyes. I wonder if he will ever know the man who sired him. 

Back at the house, I turn on the shower and let steam fill the room. Stripping out of my clothes, I gaze at myself in the mirror. I keep expecting the events of the past year to have somehow stamped their mark on my face, but to my continued amazement I look exactly the same. It's hard to believe I can feel so vastly different on the inside and yet my appearance has altered not at all. 

The only visible reminder is a pale crescent of flesh at my neck, even more pallid than the white skin surrounding it. Touching it pricks a tiny dagger of pain into my heart and I catch my breath in a sob. The brief contact flashes before me a vision of his eyes as they were just on that one night, and the lingering afterimage of that passionate tenderness is unendurable. 

-------------------------------------- 

And then suddenly, we are out of time. 

The day of arrival dawns bright and clear. My days in the lab have been unfruitful, but I have not yet thrown in the towel. I head out to meet the others, both to show off my son and to catch a glimpse of the androids, with the hope of fathoming something about their design that will allow me to unmake them. 

-------------------------------------- 

It is time they all see the true power of the Saiyajin race! 

Kakarot now owes me _his_ life, a welcome change. He is an idiot for not keeping that medicine on him after the warning he received. But no matter. I am more than capable of destroying these androids on my own, as I soon demonstrate on the first one. 

The second is a bit more clever and manages to trick me into giving him energy. I graciously allow Piccolo his chance at #20, since I have already shown how little of a challenge they are for me. 

Suddenly, that irritating whelp from the future appears next to me, and Piccolo calls him by my son's name! 

Of course! I should have seen it earlier! 

-------------------------------------- 

Yajirobe and I follow the trail of smoke, to seek out the source. I _need_ to get close enough to see them... 

Without warning, the sky is lit up by a powerful blast and the ship spins out of my control in the aftermath. My only thought is for my baby. Trunks! I should never have brought him out here-- 

Time slows to a series of vague impressions: the screech of metal, a flash of purple, a pair of strong arms, the scent of male sweat. I find myself on the ground, shaken, but unhurt. My baby! My rescuer hands me the screaming child and I throw my arms around him in gratitude -- the kid from the future. He blushes, and I finally realize who he must be. It doesn't take a genius (which I am, by the way) to figure it out. 3 years ago, he said he was 17 years old and from 20 years in the future. His pale hair is the exact color as that of the child in my arms, and those same cerulean blue eyes stare back at me in the mirror every morning. And having Vegeta as a father would explain his Saiyajin abilities. 

I smile at him, and touch his cheek. "Trunks. You saved us. Thank you..." Even though I am not much older than him, it is impossible not to feel motherly toward the man my son grows up to be. 

He looks shocked, then grins and says, "I should have known you'd figure it out. I never have been able to hide anything from you for long." The smile disappears as he looks over my shoulder and clenches his fists in anger. He is faintly shaking with rage. I turn to see what he is looking at and he blasts off abruptly. 

_Vegeta?_

He came back!-- I squelch the immediate, unconscious flood of disbelieving joy as my next thought forms. 

He was here...he saw the ship fall, and he didn't try to save us. 

_He would have let us die._

-------------------------------------- 

Fierce disappointment chokes me until I have to fight to inhale. The man I traveled so far to meet is a complete bastard. Insufferably arrogant and blinded by his own pride, he refuses to accept the possibility that the androids' power could be greater than his own. 

But what kills me the most is his utter lack of concern for my mother and the baby I used to be. If I hadn't shown up... 

I halt in front of him. "Vegeta! Why didn't you try to save them?" 

He feigns confusion. "Save whom?" 

His nonchalance infuriates me even further. "Bulma and YOUR SON!" 

He snarls at me, "I have more _important_ things to worry about than that foolish woman and her blasted child!" 

Her child. Not _his_. It's amazing, as much as I hate him at this moment, how much power he still has to hurt me. 

I grew up without a father; I spent so many wistful hours dreaming of a moment like this, seeing him face to face. The cruel reality of it nearly breaks me. 

He flies up in my face and says, "Now get out of my way!", before taking off in pursuit of the escaping android. It only takes me a second of indecision to follow. Whatever kind of man he may be, I can't let my father die, again. 

--------------------------------------   
End Chapter 9 

Hope you liked it! It seemed to take forever to write. I have a [new picture][1] up, it's actually from the next chapter (but don't worry, it doesn't spoil anything). Thanks for reading! 

* Visit my [forum][2]   
* email me at [sango_chan@hotmail.com][3] to be notified of future updates 

   [1]: http://kagome.8m.com/cgi-bin/i/images/buruma.jpg
   [2]: http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?fanaction=userforum&RoomID=1690
   [3]: mailto:sango_chan@hotmail.com



	10. Bloodline

insert standard disclaimer here. I don't own Dragonball Z or any of the characters. 

Unexpected, ch 10   
Bloodline   
-------------------------------------- 

I hit the floor with such shattering force it seems inevitable that the impact will send me straight on through, into infinity. But somehow it holds, and miraculously the tile looks none the worse for wear. I however, am not so lucky. Blood trickles sluggishly from a dozen minor lacerations, and for a moment, the combined throbbing of the assorted contusions distributed upon my body prohibits any useful movement. Long lavender hair obscures my vision, having freed itself from restraint in order to cling to my sweat-soaked skin. These pale strands were the bane of my existence in early adolescence: silky, shiny, and a decidedly un-masculine violet color appreciated only by my mother. It goes without saying that I was teased mercilessly throughout my youth for having 'pretty girl hair'. 

"Damn it, _boy_, is that the best you can do?" snarls the figure floating high in the air before me. The words cut me more deeply than any blow could. He crosses his arms and glares down at me. "I would have been better off training alone!" 

My fists clench as I growl in frustration. I have to prove myself to him! I will _make_ him respect me! That is what I have been striving for, unsuccessfully, ever since we stepped into this place beyond time... 

Determined to show no fear, I had walked through the door first, onto a plain, tiled floor suspended in the middle of...nothing. A big, empty, white void, dwarfing the floating platform we stood upon with its infinite vastness. It wasn't the pale, comforting obscurity of a concealing fog; _that_ at least would have allowed my imagination to pretend there was _something_ out there. No, it was a crisp, disturbingly clear white, as far as the eye could see, leaving no room to doubt the total lack of substantiality. The heat was oppressive; even the air seemed to weigh heavily upon me. I knew it was just the increased gravity, but even so I had to hold perfectly still for a second, using every ounce of mental strength to fight down the wild urge to run the other way and bolt the door behind me. Even the higher gravity didn't keep me from feeling that movement, any movement, would cause me to fall away into the crystal clear, stark _nothing_, and keep on falling, forever. Imagining my father's scathing derision was almost not enough. After an instant of being rooted to the spot I didn't have to imagine. A foot was planted unceremoniously into my back, sending me sprawling. "Idiot boy! Move your ass!" I swallowed the wild, irrational terror -- _I have been flying since I was three, damn it! I will not fear gravity or the lack thereof!_ -- and managed to turn and face him, and we have been sparring ever since, with only short breaks for rest and food. His iron determination is admirable. But I have seen no hint of anything in his face other than irritated scorn. 

Ungracefully, I push myself up on all fours and glower at him. He is wearing that same bored, arrogant smirk that was plastered on his face when I first returned to this time. He wore it right up until Juuhachigou kicked his ass, finally wiping it from his expression as she shattered his arm. My heart was in my throat, watching that fight. I was terrified that he would die, but I also felt no small satisfaction that he was at last getting the 'challenge' he wanted. I was still pissed about getting sucker-punched in the gut. He should have listened to me! I fought them; I _knew_ how strong they were. _I watched them kill Gohan!_ He was a fool to disregard my warning. So impossibly arrogant. His overconfidence has already cost me a childhood without a father. But at least I wasn't old enough then to witness his death. Now, I live in fear that it will happen again, in this time, right in front of me, and I will be powerless to stop it. 

"Get up, you pathetic weakling! Your mother isn't here to coddle you now!" 

I manage to struggle to my knees, and then to my feet. _Bastard! You don't know anything about my mother!_ I wish I could just not care what this arrogant jerk thinks of me, but he is my father. I can't help it; I yearn desperately for his approval. 

Suddenly, I look up, and know that my twisted smile mirrors his own. I have nothing to fear from him. I realize I have been unconsciously holding back, but I will do so no longer. He has been a Super Saiyajin for less than three years. I have been one for much longer than that. I will show him what his son is capable of! 

-------------------------------------- 

He stares furiously up at me with _her_ eyes, and I am taken aback for a moment. In my mind's eye, I see again his face as he berated me for not saving the woman and her brat. I despised the little purple-haired bastard for making me feel guilt I had thought long-since buried, and wondered how I could not have guessed sooner that he was my son. I had seen eyes that blue in only one other, flashing angrily at me much like his were then. 

If the truth were known, I had not purposely intended to allow the woman and her child to come to harm. But neither did I feel that it was _my_ responsibility to babysit them when she was stupid enough to fly into the midst of a battle. Especially after...that morning. I was obviously the most qualified to kill the android, and preventing his escape was my first priority. So I let the others worry about her. But, at the time, it amused me to let this brat think what he wanted of me. He was as transparent and as easy to bait as his mother. I could feel the frustrated anger rolling off of him in waves. Even now I smile at the memory. 

I detest him, because he is arrogant and presumptuous. Imagine, telling me I should wait for _Kakarot!_ Hmmph. And he is far too pretty. Fate mocks me with offspring such as that. What kind of Saiyajin has sparkly cerulean eyes, and hair the color of some cursed flower?! Hair that is at this moment all over his face, getting in his way. Not the cooperative, jet-black spikes of a true warrior that know how to stay put. How did I ever let my blood mingle with that of an inferior Chikyuu-jin? Even as I pose the mental question, the blue and white answer appears in my head, along with the remembered scent of her intoxicating fragrance -- I shove the image of that particular earthling away before it has time to fully form. 

I hate him, because he constantly reminds me of her. 

And yet, he is strong. I still can't believe he has ascended to the level of a Super Saiyajin at his age. Of course, he is _my_ son. I allow myself to feel a small amount of pride, but I'll be damned if I let him see it. 

He is still standing there. If I had any patience left, I would lose it again. "Well?! Bring it on, boy!" 

He springs, and immediately I sense a change. Why that little-- 

"You've been holding back on me, you little punk!", I rage. 

He grins evilly at me. "Heh. Guess I didn't want to hurt ya, Oyaji!"   
(AN: oyaji = old man) 

-------------------------------------- 

A well-executed spinning kick sends my father crashing down into the tiles with which I am practically on a first-name basis, having met them face-first so often. I smirk in satisfaction. It's _his_ turn now, and I am enjoying myself immensely. 

Standing up, he dusts himself off. He looks royally pissed, but perversely enough I finally see a hint of esteem in his eyes. Apparently the only way I am ever going to win his respect is by beating the shit out of him. 

Well, fine by me. 

Unexpectedly, he phases out and then appears right next to me, throwing an uppercut that snaps my jaw shut painfully. Rainbow-hued stars appear in my vision, right before I take a boot to the kidney that renders me temporarily immobile. 

"Cocky little bastard! You're still no match for me!" I have my doubts about that, but it does indeed appear that he was not using his full power earlier, either. 

"Feh. We'll see about that!", I yell, as I retaliate with a flurry of punches, faster than the eye can see. None of them land, of course, but they are only intended as a diversionary tactic so that I can maneuver him right to where I want him. Then, a quick ki attack blasts him back into the massive stone pillar I was aiming for. The resounding crash is music to my ears, widening the grin on my face. 

Finally letting myself pound on him is making me giddy with glee. It's like some kind of weird high. At last I am able to vent all of my frustration on something. 

Shoving off the pillar at breakneck speed, he throws a shoulder into my gut and rams me into the one opposite, breaking more than one rib, I think. But pain is my friend for the moment, fueling the fire. Irreconcilable love and hate for this man have clashed unceasingly within me, ever since I met him. He is so strong, and proud; I can't help but admire him. But he tore something vital out of my mother that I didn't even know was missing, until I met her younger self. And already, I can see him slowly killing it in her. 

_This is for my mother, asshole! Both of them!_ I ram my knee into his face with all the force I can muster, noting with pleasure the vermillion streaming from his nose. Something feral in me, a primitive lust for blood, has awakened and demands to be satiated. 

-------------------------------------- 

The familiar song of battle stirs my blood into an exhilarated frenzy. I was beginning to wonder if the little pissant even had it in him. Despairing of ever getting a decent fight out of him, I was glad to find that the bloodline of the Saiyajin no Ouke still ran true.   
(AN: Ouke = royal family) 

But the little upstart is mistaken if he thinks he is anywhere near my level, yet. 

Wiping the blood from my face, I turn to face the brat-- 

He is looking down at me through narrowed eyes, floating in a stance uncannily similar to the last opponent to get lucky enough to bloody my nose. One I faced countless ages ago, his equal in every aspect save physical strength. Proud, iron-willed and fearless...the woman who bequeathed him those eyes. Even here, in this place beyond time, I can't escape their accusing blue fury. 

Irritated beyond all reason, I voice my frustration with a loud cry as I release a huge bolt of power at him. Deflecting it almost carelessly, he grins savagely at me, baring his teeth, and we circle each other, waiting for the next round to begin. 

-------------------------------------- 

The fight doesn't end until we are both lying on the cool marble, unable to move. For a long time the only audible sound is our labored breathing. 

Eventually, however, even the fiery ache permeating my entire being is unable to compete with my Saiyajin appetite, and I hear an answering growl from his stomach. I groan and roll onto my belly, raising up on my elbows. He is still glowering darkly at me. I pretend not to notice; I know, somehow, that he is pleased with the day's training. 

"Well, father, I suppose we should eat." I slowly get to my feet. "Why don't I cook." Not a question. I'd thought there couldn't possibly be a worse cook in existence than my mother...wrong. Our first day here, he'd thrashed me unmercifully, to the point where I could barely move. His attempt at dinner was barely admissible under the category of food. After that, he always managed to graciously spare me the use of at least one arm. I'm a rather good cook, out of necessity. I would never have lived through the ravenous years of a teenage Saiyajin, otherwise. I don't know how Mom can be so awful at it when Grandma had been so good. She was killed when I was very young, but I still remember her cookies... 

Thinking of the hellish future I'm from always puts me in a foul mood. No one here can possibly fathom the horrors I've seen. Sometimes I want to scream with the sheer frustrated rage of it. _Gohan..._

He doesn't say much as we eat, but then, he never does. I've lost count of the number of days we've spent here, but each night is always the same. (I use the term 'night' loosely, since it never actually gets any darker here. The level of ambient light never changes. I _hate_ sleeping with the blankets over my head, practically suffocating from the stuffy, recycled air, but it's the only way I can convince my weary brain that it is actually night). 

Anyway, each night is the same. We finish sparring, we eat, we sleep. He has constantly rebuffed all of my initial attempts at conversation, and eventually I quit trying, even though I continue to burn with curiosity about this man who fathered me. And I can't help being hurt that he has so little interest in knowing anything about me. 

Tonight, however, he startles me into choking violently on a mouthful of rice. 

"You were actually decent today, boy." 

I attempt to regain some semblance of composure and say, "More than decent, I'd say, from the looks of your ugly mug." The delivery of the bold words suffers a bit from the weak, raspy voice and accompanying cough. 

A raised eyebrow. "Hmmph. Looked in a mirror, lately?" 

I hold my breath, afraid to say anything and ruin the moment. We are actually having a conversation of sorts. 

He reclines in the chair and stares idly into nothing. I absently study his face, trying to see anything of myself in the cold features. I nearly leap out of my skin when he turns on me and says, "What?! What the hell is your problem?" 

Before I can stop it, the question I have lived with my entire life pops out. I mentally smack myself upside the head and await the inevitable explosion. 

"Why did you leave my mother?" 

-------------------------------------- 

Impertinent whelp! I open my mouth to tell him it's none of his damn business, but what comes out is: "Why? Didn't _she_ tell you?" 

All the frustration in the world is in his face as he stares at the table. In a low voice, he says, "No. She would never speak of it, and every time I asked she would be depressed for days." He looks up at me. "All she would ever say is that she did something that hurt you, and then never saw you again." 

Of course not. I didn't come back to this planet until the arrival of the androids, when, in his timeline, I died-- Wait..._she_ hurt _me_? What is he talking about? I was the one that-- I purge that train of thought from my mind, before it can unleash the raw pain buried deep within from the shackles I imposed upon it long ago, to keep it from rending my brain to shreds. 

His eyes desperately implore me for an answer, although he makes no plea aloud. I owe him no explanation, but something compels me to offer him at least something. Perhaps it is because I know what it is to live with such an unanswered question, eating away at your soul like acid. To wonder why your own father would leave you. Or give you away. 

"Boy. I can't explain exactly what happened. And for all we know, the events in your future could have been completely different from what happened here." 

He tries to school his expression and conceal his disappointment. "Of course," he says smoothly. 

Impatiently, I snap, "I'm not done." Rising from the table, I walk to the 'window', staring out into the void, my back to him. Gazing out into nothing, but seeing only her. 

"I guess the major problem is that one such as she could never understand me." I pause. "How could she? How could any pampered Chikyuu-jin princess, with wealthy parents catering to her every whim, possibly understand? 

How can such a one as that, know what it is to live in fear and horror, every day of your life? To see your world destroyed, and your very life turned to a living hell?? 

Her life was all sunshine and flowers. She could never understand me." 

There is more, there is so much more, but I have said enough. I can't bring myself to give him the whole picture, but at least I have provided a piece of the puzzle. 

He is silent, and I finally turn around, unsure of the reaction I will see. Never in a million years would I have expected what I find in his eyes: gratitude, for the long-awaited morsel of knowledge, and 

understanding. 

The boy knows. Quietly, he says, "She understands, now." 

I never thought I would meet anyone who could possibly fathom what it was like, to live through the horrific nightmare of my childhood. Much less that it would be my own son. But here he is, looking at me with the level of bleak comprehension reserved only for someone who has lived through the same kind of hell. I remember that in his world, the androids destroyed everything, including his father. He grew to manhood under their reign of terror, living underground, knowing he wasn't powerful enough to defeat them. He watched the earth torn to pieces and everyone around him killed. Except for her. In spite of myself, I can't suppress the brief surge of thankfulness for her survival. But it quickly passes. 

He knows. He knows what it is like, to forget your father's face. To see your world annihilated. To live in terror of a monster infinitely stronger than you. To walk through the flames of hell and yet keep on living. That kind of shared pain inevitably forms a bond. We don't speak of it, but it is there. 

I've said enough for tonight. I walk into a small, comfortable bedroom and collapse on the pallet, still in my armor. 

Will I ever be able to forget her face? 

Even the euphoria induced by ascending to Super Saiyajin could not erase the feel of the cool softness of her skin against mine, her breath on my lips. Knowing that I will never feel these sensations again pains me greatly, but I cling all the more tenaciously to the memory because of it; it is all I have left of her. 

The only thing she could conceivably feel for me now is hatred. There is no going back. 

But what had the boy said? The woman thinks she had hurt me, and _that_ was why I left? Is it possible that she doesn't despise me? 

Bah. I will never know. As I told the brat, the events that caused his parents to part ways could have been entirely different. Which means anything his mother said does not necessarily apply to the woman in this time. 

Reality crashes down on the hope stirred up by my pointless musing. I ignore the desperate pang of sorrow that follows, and force myself into sleep with the ease of a warrior long accustomed to snatching rest whenever possible. 

Yet even in slumber I find no respite. 

Sad, impossibly blue eyes haunt my dreams throughout the night. 

-------------------------------------- 

Everything is different, after that night. He still beats the crap out of me every day, but I give as well as I get. 

He isn't the black-hearted bastard he pretends to be. I see that now. His life has made it hard for him to express anything resembling kindness. It was beaten out of him at an early age, and no one ever showed him any after that. On some unspoken level, we understand each other better than anyone else ever could. His hellish childhood outmatches even my own. At least I had my mother. She was so strong, when I was small and scared. And now she's there all alone..._Mom_... 

The floor rudely interrupts my line of thought by smashing into me with a vengeance. Dazed, I glare up at the bottoms of his boots and yell some obscenities at them. But my heart isn't in it. Worrying about her is sucking all the resources out of my brain, leaving nothing behind for the strategy of a fight. I need to get back; she's defenseless... 

No. She is never defenseless. And I am here for a reason; to become strong enough to liberate my world from its oppressors. I can't leave yet. I comfort myself with the thought that every day in here is only 1/365 of a day on the outside. Which is doubly good, since I am also here to help save _this_ world, and we need all the time we can get to defeat Cell. I hope that my younger mother can use those blueprints for Juunanagou to construct some kind of weapon against the evil cyborgs. 

Marshaling my thoughts, I launch an attack with renewed determination. _They will die!_ Righteous fury raises my power to new heights. 

"It's about time, brat!--" He manages, before I am upon him. Then he is too busy fending me off for speech. 

"What's wrong, Oyaji? Getting slow in your old age?" He backhands me across the face, splitting my lip and catapulting me away into the snow white vacuum around us. Thankfully, I have long since overcome my fear of it. 

"You wish, you snot-nosed whelp! Only a fool would challenge a Saiyajin in his prime!" He emphasizes the words by appearing at the apex of my trajectory and punctuating them with a hammer punch that hurtles me in the opposite direction, back toward my favorite tiles. 

"What's the matter, pretty boy? Done already?" 

I phase in front of him and assume a fighting stance. "I'm just getting warmed up." 

The game begins in earnest. Our training has risen to a new level. We have both gained more power in the past year than I could ever have imagined. We trade blows with precision, searching tirelessly for a weakness in the other's defense. On and on we fight, until it seems the pavilion will crumble beneath us. (There isn't a mark on it, though. It appears to be indestructible). 

Anyway, as we finally near exhaustion, two thoughts flash into my brain like lightening. 

The first one is the realization that I am stronger than him. I can feel it. Somehow, I have surpassed him in the time we have been training here. 

Hard on its heels is the knowledge that I can never let him know. No matter what, I still have to let him come out of this on top. His pride will not suffer him to be beaten, even by his own kin, and this tenuous bond with him means more to me than any amount of power. 

--------------------------------------   
End Chapter 10 

Just a quick apology to anyone who received a bogus author alert last week. Sorry about that. 

* Post comments/questions/suggestions on my [forum][1].   
* Email me at [sango_chan@hotmail.com][2] to be notified of updates or just to say hi :)   
* No new artwork this time... 

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?fanaction=userforum&RoomID=1690
   [2]: mailto:sango_chan@hotmail.com



	11. Passion

insert standard disclaimer here. I don't own Dragonball Z or any of the characters. 

Unexpected, ch 11   
Passion 

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Firm, unyielding hands crush me fiercely against flesh-girded steel, as if escape were not the furthest thought from my mind. Indeed, there is no force in existence that could tear me away. Scorching heat trails down my neck, one kiss at a time, searing a path down to the valley between my breasts and leaving me gasping for breath, as an answering fire flares out from the pit of my stomach to the terminus of every nerve. My hands rove where they will, with a mind of their own, as though they are able to taste and savor every inch of the skin beneath them. Teasing mercilessly, brushing as faintly as butterfly wings over the most sensitive areas, and then abruptly raking fingernails down the broad expanse of tautly muscled back with a force just short of rending delicate flesh. His breath no longer even, his gaze jerks up to meet mine; the burning need, threatening to consume me completely, is mirrored within the onyx flames. I arch against him-- 

The insistent wail of an infant demanding sustenance cruelly banishes my dream, at just the wrong moment. I try to detain it, clinging mulishly to the wispy vestiges of slumber -- _Please, can't I just..._ -- but, in the innocently egocentric way of babies, he has no mercy on me, and refuses to even consider letting me sleep while he is still hungry. 

Sighing, I lever myself reluctantly out of bed and give him what he wants. It isn't his fault, after all, that the only regard I receive from his father is in unconscious fantasy. Such dreams rarely visited me in the months immediately following Trunks's birth, but upon the prince's return they have plagued me nearly every night, as if having two opposing forces in such close proximity must inevitably unleash a violent maelstrom of emotion that has to be expressed somewhere. Unable to do so during the day, at night I hold him and tell him all of the things I cannot say in person. I can't decide if the pleasure the dreams afford me is worth the anguish that nearly drowns me each morning upon awakening, choking my throat with sobs and flooding my eyes with tears before they even open. 

Each time I see that proud, austere countenance, the words are so close, they burn on my tongue. But even on pain of death I am unable to utter the first syllable. In this tenacious state of optimistic ignorance, I am at least able to harbor a fragment of hope, that all is not lost between us. But I can't bear to open my mouth and have his scathing rejection steal even that small happiness from me. 

So, instead, all interaction is carefully neutral between us. He no longer even tries to bait me, as if the effort were totally beneath his dignity. I maintain the pretense of not caring about his complete lack of concern for me. Pretending as if his abandoning his tiny son and myself to certain death matters not at all. I don't know that I manage to fool any of them, but they have the grace not to press the issue. 

Except for Trunks. He can't leave well enough alone. 

The one thing that still infuriates me at the drop of a hat is Vegeta's callous treatment of the young man who so obviously idolizes him. As hard as he tries to conceal it, he is my son as well, and is no better than I at keeping his feelings from writing themselves as plain as day across his guileless features. It must gall his father to no end. 

We fight quite a bit over Trunks. Poor boy. I know he wants so much to see us get along, for his sake and the sake of the older me that raised him. He would like to believe she was happy. I wish I could give him that. 

I remember the first fight we had in front of him, the day they returned from fighting Cell to tell everyone about the 'games'. I had run into the room, calling Trunks's name, unable to suppress the rising note of panic in my voice and deathly afraid that no answer would be forthcoming. But suddenly, there he was, mouth open as if caught in mid-sentence, staring wide-eyed at me, whole and seemingly unharmed. I couldn't contain the glad tears of relief any more than I could restrain myself from launching toward him at a dead run. Throwing my free arm around his neck, I buried my face in his shoulder, sobbing, all fears allayed. He froze completely, and then hesitantly raised a hand to pat my back. Composing myself, I began examining every inch of him, looking for any visible sign of injury. 

A hint of roseate color bloomed across his pale cheeks; I must have embarassed him unforgiveably. And in front of Vegeta, as well. But I couldn't help it; unlike his own mother I hadn't gone through the toughening ordeal of childhood bumps, bruises, and scraped knees, accustoming me to seeing my child bounce back from injury. I was totally unprepared for the idea of any harm being done to my 'baby', even if he was almost a man. Piccolo scared me to death when he cautioned me that Trunks might have been hurt during his battle with Cell. I don't think I've ever flown so fast, and I'm fond of pushing the turbos to their limits. 

Even as mortified as he was, in his features I could read a hint of pleasure at the attention; he must have been missing his real mother. Indulgently he endured my fussing, knowing that I was much younger and more inexperienced than her, and couldn't really help it. His father had no such tolerance. 

"Leave off your blasted coddling, woman! How the brat managed to grow into a decent fighter, with only _your_ weakening influence, I'll never know!" 

I flinched backward away from him, but before I could speak, Trunks's ki flared strongly enough that even I could feel it, and he retorted, "Shut up, old man! You don't know anything about her, or what she has gone through!" 

"Is that so, boy?" Vegeta's voice, in contrast to Trunks's outraged shout, was cold and deadly. 

Trunks coiled like a panther about to pounce, and I placed a restraining hand on his chest, looking him straight in the eye. "No." 

I hurt more for him, seeing firsthand the way his father and I really were, than for myself. His mother must have told him some well-meaning lie about the past that allowed him to entertain some hope of affection between us. The truth of it was killing him. 

Vegeta smiled cruelly, silently mocking my son for being so easily restrained by a mere woman, before turning to leave. 

"Just a moment, you arrogant son of a bitch!" I was far from finished with him. "How could you let your infernal pride rule you so?" His back stiffened at the implication that anything could rule him. "It may very well cost all of us our lives!" 

He didn't turn around; I couldn't see his face as he stated, "That hardly matters to me." A measured pause. "But you needn't worry, Cell will meet his end at my hand soon enough." 

And that has pretty much set the pattern for every day since then. Pointedly ignoring each other, coolly distant except for the heated fights over our adult son. And each night, before slipping into another achingly sweet dream, I count the days remaining, lost in rue over how we squander what little time might be left to us. 

-------------------------------------- 

Unable to sleep, I lie on the roof and stare into the smattering of stars above, still, after all this time, trying to find the familiar constellations that only exist in memory. 

Wondering how that harridian still holds the power to invoke my wrath like no other. On Vegetasei that ignorant woman would have been dealt a swift rebuke for humiliating him in that manner, fussing over an obviously hale fighter like a babe in arms. I was displaying admirable restraint by not cuffing her upside the head. It's hard to remember I am no longer among my own people...and never will be, again. 

I don't know whether I am more disgusted with her, for displaying such obvious emotion, or myself, for wanting to be the object of her attention. Just for a second, I allow myself to wonder what it would be like, to have her so desperate to be assured of my health that she would dissolve into tears, locking her arms around my neck as if she were afraid to let go. Just for a second, I torture myself with the idea, and then force my mind to other matters. 

I must make Cell pay for the humiliation he inflicted upon me. I should have finished him when I had him begging for his life. But it was not mercy that stayed my hand -- just pride. What kind of warrior would refuse such a direct challenge? How can a man hold himself in any regard, letting cowardice determine his actions? Pride may well be my downfall, as the woman predicts, but without it, what is left of me? 

At some point, I must have returned to my bed, for soon I am deep in the throes of another harrowing dream, of both pain and pleasure. Crystal blue eyes pierce my very soul, lit from within by the blaze of passion. That wonderful hair cascades down over her ethereally pale shoulders, covering us both as she hovers over me, setting my skin on fire as her chest lightly grazes mine, separated only by the sheerest of barriers, a flimsy lace garment I could shred in a heartbeat. Kissing me full on the mouth, she pulls back and I see the glittering wetness of tears on her cheeks, making my heart turn over. Deep down, I can't stand causing her pain. And I refuse to, here. Reaching out, I rub them away with my thumb, as gently as I am able. She rewards me with a smile, _that_ smile, lighting up her whole face. Dazzling my vision, she could have been an angel except for the slightly predatory gleam of lust that causes my breath to catch in my throat. Tantalizingly graceful, she removes the last of her clothing like a seasoned ecdysiast, each movement intended to inflame and arouse. She entwines her fingers in mine, pressing herself against me until every inch of us is in contact with the other. The unbelievably soft, silken touch of her overloads my senses, driving me wild... 

Even knowing everything to be a dream, I still die a little each dawn as I wake to find my arms empty. A piece of my soul is torn away, and I fill the void with anger, the only resource left to me. Anger at that low class cretin, for always managing to stay one step ahead of me. Anger at the son, who mocks everything I held to be true by being at once a formidable warrior and a man capable of showing emotion. Anger at her, for loving that human enough to die for him and then linking my name with the one I learned to hate above all others. And, though I would never admit it to another living soul, anger at myself for the pride that allowed me to place her in such grave danger, and that prevents me even now from giving her any sort of apology for all I have done. I am almost sure that she would throw it back in my face, anyway. 

But, as bad as these dreams are, making me yearn for something I can never have, the agony made all the greater by the knowledge that I had it once, and threw it away....as heart-rending as they are, they are nothing compared to the _other_ dreams. Thankfully, those have not troubled me since I returned to this wretched planet. But they were horrible enough that each time I awaken with the feel of her lingering on my fingertips, wishing I still retained the ability to weep and release the terrible pain of loss building up within me, I still have the wit to be grateful I did not dream of something worse. 

-------------------------------------- 

They are fighting over me, again. I sit, holding baby me -- I can't tell you how weird _that_ is -- watching as she berates him at the top of her lungs for declaring that he will go alone into the time chamber, once Piccolo is finished. I would be admiring her dogged determination if the whole situation were not so depressing. I still find it hard to believe sometimes, that this vibrant, argumentative creature is the same woman I've known all my life. The burden of my father's death and raising me alone in the wake of the android holocaust must have taken a major toll on her. But she was so strong, stronger than all of them. She survived, and came up with a plan to save the world, after the warriors all fell. 

But she majorly downplayed any feelings she had for my father, whenever she talked about him. She always made it sound like a brief, casual fling, but here it is so obvious that she is desperately in love with him. It shines out of her eyes like a beacon, evident in every line of her body even as she yells obscenities at him. 

I love her so much. It kills me to watch him hurt her so. A lump forms in my throat, making me feel like a small child watching his parents fight -- Can't he see how wonderful she is? 

"You arrogant jerk! The least you could do is train with the boy, since you seem disinclined to do anything else! Let him get to know his father, while he's here!" 

"Bah! I'll never get anything done with him tagging along, getting in the way! Not that I would expect a mere woman to understand..." 

Everyone else in the room has long since stopped paying attention, having seen this scene replayed before them many times already, with minor variations. The insults they come up with are rather creative at first, but always seem to degenerate to "baka woman" and "Sayajin ass". 

"You Sayajin ass!" 

"Baka human woman!" 

Yet...the way their eyes flash at each other, and as close as they stand, almost touching...am I only imagining it? Or is there something else there, buried deep below the anger they let rage on the surface? 

Yamucha must have seen it too, because suddenly he says, "Oh, for the love of -- will you two just hop into bed and get it _over_ with??" His voice is thickly laced with sarcasm that doesn't quite conceal his jealousy, causing me to remember suddenly that he was my mother's former lover. 

They both turn toward him, mouths open in outraged shock, startled into mute astonishment. For a second, anyway. 

"Yamucha! What in the hell are you talking about?!" 

"I've had enough of this! Foolish humans!" Plaster flies everywhere as he doesn't bother to use the door, choosing the more expedient method of blasting his way out, instead. 

-------------------------------------- 

In this surreal environment, the days blend seamlessly into each other in spite of the ever-changing atmosphere -- one day suffocatingly hot, the next blisteringly cold. Always with the suppressive gravity that constantly taxes me; there is never a moment's respite from the artificial heaviness. It takes its toll, despite my intimate familiarity with training in increased gravity. For then, I would step out of the chamber each night, giving my stressed bones and tissue time to repair during the hours I spent eating, sleeping, and waiting for her to decide to fix the blasted thing. Here there is no true rest. 

In the moments of deepest exhaustion, of both body and soul, I almost think Kakarot was right, that this is a hell of a way to train. But no price is too high to pay for the power to defeat Cell. The consequences of failure are too dire. 

The constant exhaustion has one unlooked-for benefit. Mercifully, I do not dream. I collapse every night into complete black oblivion, sometimes not even on the bed, with only occasional vague shadowy visions, that fade as soon as I awaken. 

Only one night, toward the end of the year, am I troubled by the memory of her. Feeling strong, reveling in my considerable progress, I retire for the evening confident that I will find Cell a much less formidable opponent when I finally depart this cursed place. 

But that night, in my sleep, she calls to me. Sitting in a field of grass the bright green of high summer, skirt fanned out around her, she clasps a brightly colored bud, half-unfurled, to her face, drinking in the scent. A picture out of the peaceful lazy days of a life I never knew, face lit with a smile that is only for me. Her hair shines like a coin in the sun, diaphanous strands stirred playfully by the capricious breeze. She is all that is good and peaceful and right. 

Her voice echoes in my head, though the haunting sanguine lips never move. 

_Vegeta...I am your sun, sky, and moon. I am in your marrow, blood and bone. Whenever your heart sings in victory, laughs with joy, or breaks with sorrow, so mine does also. Wherever you go, I am there._

-------------------------------------- 

I am back in the lab once more, for yet another sleepless night. But I am glad of it; the work gives my hands and my mind something to do. Otherwise I would slowly be going insane from the raging turmoil in my head. I have long since forgotten the need for such mundane things as food and sleep. And without sleep, there can be no more dreams, no more waking, feverish, with the unslakeable thirst for his hands on my body, for the taste of his lips. 

The world condenses to countless lines of code on my monitor, my tools, and the broken machine on the worktable that only I can repair. Time is of the essence; we will need every fighter we can muster to defeat Cell, and no one else can do this task. 

Detachedly, I marvel at the consummate skill of the late scientist. He was truly gifted, and I know no small sadness that such genius could not have been used for a higher purpose, instead of ruthless conquest and destruction. My father and I have no equal in the field of capsule technology, but the intricacies of this artificially intelligent being are far beyond us. It is all I can manage to study the existing framework and try to reproduce what has already been done. 

Finally, well after daybreak, I stumble away from the lab, stiff and bleary-eyed. Stopping briefly to feed my son, I make my way to my room, collapsing bonelessly into bed, shoes and all. Asleep before my head even hits the pillow, I fall down into twisted, tortured dreams beyond my imagination, my utter exhaustion tethering me firmly in slumber like an anchor dragging me into the deep, away from the surface of consciousness, all struggle to wake in vain. 

The dream itself in an incoherent collage of bleak images: The back of a tall, proud, distantly regal man draped in a rich, flowing cloak, with an upswept mane of ebony hair peaked in a hauntingly familiar silhouette. A vast ship, cold and sterile, filling my nostrils with the stale scent of blood and unwashed soldiers. A small, dark, lonely chamber, its spartan trappings rendering it more a cell than a room. Grim, hardened warriors, of various unfamiliar alien species, laughing viciously as they take turns cuffing me, each knocking me off-balance and right into the hands of the next. A wicked looking whip, studded with metal and glass, laying my flesh open nearly to the bone where it strikes. A savagely cruel, tailed monster with glittering razor-sharp talons, digging into my shoulders as he whispers bitter despair in my ear. This last one I know -- Frieza. All of the figures seem impossibly tall...and I get the puzzling feeling that the emotions coursing through me are not my own. 

Then I get it. 

I am dreaming of _his_ childhood, walking through his memory, somehow. All of the pain, anger, frustration, loneliness and terror are his. Most of the events are hazy and unclear, but the sheer horror of the countless indignities, brutal thrashings, and verbal assaults he was forced to endure for _years_ makes my soul weep. I can't bear watching that depraved monster slowly break his will, beating him senseless over and over, mercilessly reminding him of his father's abandonment, time and again. Taking away everything he remotely cared about until finally he learned it was just easier not to. Chipping away at this frightened child until there was nothing left but pride and the desire to be strong, because strength meant survival -- and one day, he would become strong enough to repay his tormentor in full. Burning out all memory of kindness and compassion, that revolting lizard warped an innocent boy into a young man who knew only how to destroy. 

Tears are coursing down my face before I even wake, and I begin to sob in earnest as awareness returns, finally realizing what the full impact of my angry words that morning must have been on him. I knew that he hated Frieza, and that his childhood had not been pleasant...but the truth of it was beyond anything I could have imagined. _Oh Vegeta, I didn't know..._

-------------------------------------- 

Time has slipped away. Tomorrow the fate of the world is decided. 

I hate this helpless feeling, of knowing the end may be near, and not being able to do anything about it. 

I hope, against my better judgement, that he will return tonight. I so desperately want to see him, one last time. And after my unexplainable foray into his nightmarish past, I am determined to render my apology, even if he doesn't want to hear it. I can't die with that on my conscience. 

I dress, slowly, trying to still my mind. Thinking too much about what I plan to do will surely make me lose my resolve. I select a long, flowing skirt of gold and a lighter, almost-sheer blouse of the same hue. I know that the color contrasts nicely with my hair, turning my skin a pale cream. Droplets of amber grace my ears, a hint of red tints my lips, a dab of perfume at the pulse point on my throat faintly scents the air around me. I feel a bit silly, dressing up for no real reason, but the unconscious, practiced motions of dressing calm my nerves, and I want to use every possible weapon in my arsenal when I confront my target. 

I wait, by turns pacing the halls and sitting in my room, staring idly at nothing. The hours slip past, and I begin to despair of seeing him at all. 

As the sun makes what might well be its final descent into the western mountains, I slide down against the wall in the main hallway, peering intently into the sky, searching in vain for the tiny spark of light that would herald the approach of a flying warrior. 

-------------------------------------- 

The fading light of the sun makes her skin appear gilded, and so still does she sit, that not a fold stirs of the aurous material she wears. With her delicate features, the combined effect makes her seem a master sculpture, worked in gold. 

Wearied to the point of total numb apathy, I just can't face her. I haven't the energy to fight with her, tonight. I only wanted to see her, to steal one last glimpse to carry with me into death, should we all fail. 

Is she waiting for me? 

Not until the moon has risen, and bathed her in its silver glow, does she finally give up and retire, allowing me to slip undetected into the house. I just need one night of normal, restful sleep. 

But such rest is denied me. 

I almost long for the old nightmares of torment at Frieza's hands, or the death of my planet. For at least then, I could wake and force myself to remember that such things are long in the past, and well behind me. 

For these dreams there is no such escape. They linger on, long after sleep has gone. 

These dreams are about countless planets whose names I never bothered to learn, filled with the agonized screams of beings whose fear I imbibed like the sweetest nectar. The villainous monster in these dreams wears my face, and the savage enjoyment in its expression causes the bile to rise in my throat. 

How can anyone live with so much blood on their hands? 

-------------------------------------- 

Something wakes me out of a deep sleep -- _He's back?_ He has taken a room on the opposite side of the house, as far away from me as he can get, but still I know he is in the grip of a terrible dream. I don't question it; I just go to him. 

Creeping in, I gaze at him for a moment, nearer to him than I have been now for months. Slumber steals the fierceness from his expression, allowing fatigue to show through, and something akin to sorrow. My heart is in my throat. I forgave him long ago for that morning. I wonder if he will ever forgive me. 

I shake his shoulder gently in an attempt to wake him. Even though I am expecting it, his reaction still takes me by surprise. Pinned under him, I am powerless to move, and can only stare into those night-dark eyes. 

"Stupid woman! What the hell are you doing in here? Haven't you learned yet to stay away from me?!" 

"You were dreaming again," I say, rather petulantly. "You woke me up." 

He surprises me by not questioning the idea that he could have awakened me from across the building, but he doesn't look pleased at the thought. "Fine. Now get out." 

I move to comply, but something stops me. Now is my chance. 

"Vegeta." Tomorrow the games begin. I am no fool, I know how strong Cell is and that there is more than a decent chance that I may never see him again. 

This might be my last opportunity to apologize, and I will not let it slip by. 

He is still glowering me and doing everything short of pointing at the door to get me to leave. I ignore him and sit back on the bed. 

Sighing, I take his hand. He tenses as if to snatch it away, but doesn't. "Vegeta. I want to say this now, before anything happens." 

"What could you possibly have to say that would be of interest to me?" 

"Just shut up, already!" I pause, to collect my thoughts. "I want to say that I am sorry for what I said, that morning." I look up. Whatever he expected me to say, it apparently wasn't that. 

I continue, "It wasn't fair of me." His exterior cracks a bit, and I am tormented with guilt by the hurt I see within. Pain that I inflicted on him. More forcefully, I add, "And it isn't true." 

He sneers, "And how would you know?" As if to remind me, he touches first the broken rib, then the collarbone, both long since mended. He traces a fading scar on my shoulder lightly. 

I shut my eyes, cursing myself for a fool, and swallow a sob. How could I not have seen this? He thinks I blame him for hurting me. Oh, Vegeta... 

I place my hand over his, and look directly into his eyes, wanting him to know I speak the truth. "I never blamed you for that. I know you stopped as much as you were able." 

He closes his eyes. He doesn't speak, so I go on. "Yamucha told me the things he said to you. I know you didn't intend to kill him, at first." 

Yamucha's name finally provokes a response. "You and that weakling human are welcome to each other! Now leave me--" 

I shut him up by shifting my weight suddenly and rolling on top of him, a hand clasped over his mouth. Sitting on his stomach, I lean over him, looking into eyes that seem to devour the light. 

"Vegeta. Don't insult my intelligence or yours by insinuating that I could ever go back to Yamucha. We both know where my heart lies." A spark in the black depths betrays his emotions. _Didn't he know?_

I trail my free hand absently from where it rests on his shoulder, across his collarbone, to the hollow of his throat. He shivers. "I wanted to ask your forgiveness. I know better than to expect an apology from you." I bend down and kiss his forehead lightly, surprised that he hasn't thrown me off by now. I remove my hand from his mouth, trembling so hard that there is no way he can't feel it. _Please, don't send me away..._

My voice is surprisingly steady. "This may be the last night we ever have. I don't want to waste it fighting..." 

-------------------------------------- 

I couldn't believe she was able to sense my nightmare from all the way across the house, but I didn't doubt her. Infuriating, arrogant, loud, and stubborn she may be, but I have never known her for a liar. It didn't matter anyway. I just wanted her to leave. I am always weakest in that moment between waking and sleeping; the severity of my dreams usually leaves me vulnerable and unable to contain my emotions upon awakening. I hate that she has been witness to that weakness, so many times. 

But then her words completely took me by surprise. I really thought she hated me. How can she not, after what I did to her? 

But she doesn't, and the thought floods me with warmth. She is so beautiful, I can't help but react to her close proximity and the light touch of her hand, her lips. Neither can I prevent the slight feeling of self-deprecating disgust, at the fact that one of the mightiest fighters in the universe can be reduced to a helpless, quivering mass before this slight, weak human by her mere touch. The thought that Kakarot likewise has one who holds him so in thrall does nothing to abate the feeling. 

So, she doesn't want to waste the night fighting? 

I allow myself a small smile into the dark as I seize her and draw her down to me. "Then come here, woman, and shut up." 

-------------------------------------- 

The distant silver orb in the sky above bathes the darkened room in its pale, quiet light, making our unclothed skin gleam faintly blue and luminous. He smiles at me in the shadows, just the smallest upturning of lips, but it is there. I run my hand over the smooth skin of his stomach, tracing the rippled muscles in small circles with my finger. The low growl of desire I receive in return quickens my breath and causes me to revel in this power, a power than can cause such a powerful warrior to tremble at my touch and silently beg me with his eyes in need. 

He takes hold of my hand, stroking the inside gently with his thumb before raising it to his mouth and brushing his lips against it. This gentle kiss, feather-light against my palm, contains more intimacy than any other act of love I have ever known. Eyes dark as a starless night bore into my soul, exposing everything, leaving me naked and vulnerable before him. But I have nothing to hide, and I try to pour out all my love for him, wanting him to see the full extent of my emotion, wanting him to understand. Wanting him to return it...I know that he must, somewhere. 

Just before sleep claims me, I whisper the words. I couldn't have held them back if I'd tried. 

"I love you." 

He starts, looking uncertain and uncomfortable. I almost pity him. 

"Woman--" I stop the growling reply with a finger, before he can mask his emotion with anger and ruin the moment. I know he isn't ready to speak the words, and may not be for a long time, if ever. Considering the life he has known, it's a miracle he's made it this far. I force myself to be content with the emotion I felt from him just moments ago, almost painful in its intensity, reminding myself that _that_ was what mattered, not the words themselves. 

"Hush. You don't have to say anything." He grunts, but then his arms tighten around me as if to say what his lips cannot. I drift off, more at peace than I have been for countless months, hoping that this night will not be our last. 

-------------------------------------- 

In the morning, she is gone, but whether it was to make it easier on me or herself I do not know. 

I don't see her again until we are just about to leave. She runs out of the house, and throws her arms around the boy. He is embarrassed by the display, but doesn't really mind. 

She approaches me, and simply says, "Don't die." For an instant I am wildly jealous of the boy, for being the recipient of her fierce embrace, but I admit that I would never have allowed her to do that to me. Besides, those two words were imbued with more emotion than any embrace could contain. 

I smirk. "I have no intention of it." 

--------------------------------------   
End chapter 11 

Thanks everyone for being patient. Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out, but as you can see it's twice as long as most of the others. Hope you liked it :) 

As always, feel free to post on my [forum][1] or [email me][2] about the fic. There is one chapter left, maybe two, depending on how long it gets. And there will probably be a sequel, set during the Buu saga, but not for a while. 

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?fanaction=userforum&RoomID=1690
   [2]: mailto:sango_chan@hotmail.com



	12. Choices

insert standard disclaimer here. I don't own Dragonball Z or any of the characters. 

Unexpected, ch 12   
Choices   
-------------------------------------- 

_My, my skin can't take much more of this, she says...   
...every time I wash it off, I find you underneath_

-------------------------------------- 

The Games did not go as planned. 

All of us -- except for my father, of course -- assumed that once again Goku would step up to the plate, defeat Cell, and save the world. He had always been the Earth's hero. No one expected him to be beaten. 

No one expected him to die. 

He astonished us all by throwing in the towel, and electing to choose another warrior to battle in his place. Cell was not pleased, derisively insulting the collective lot of us, complaining that none of us would put up a decent fight. I think only Vegeta took offense. The rest of us knew we were greatly overmatched. 

Although, as it turned out, one of us was vastly underestimating himself: Gohan. 

Everyone nearly fell over from surprise when Goku, with remarkable aplomb, named his son as successor. My father was affronted, Piccolo was angry, and the rest of us were just in shock. 

A barely discernable tremor betrayed Gohan's fear, but he didn't say "No." 

_His father believed in him, and that was enough._

What must it be like, I wondered, to know that your father has so much unwavering confidence in you? Such trust in your abilities, and so much pride in your accomplishments? For soon it became apparent that indeed the son had surpassed his father as a warrior, but in Goku's expression there was only quiet pride and a fierce joy in the glory of his progeny. No hint of resentment. Even in the midst of that penultimate struggle, which would determine the fate of everything, envy was eating me alive. For I knew that _my_ sire would never have such faith in me, and if I were to one day surpass him I would only earn his biting enmity. 

The match could have been ended in moments, once the young demi-Saiyajin reached the pinnacle of his power. But Gohan, after he fully unleashed the screaming, pent-up bloodlust within, could not control it. He toyed with his prey, desiring him to suffer as he had caused others to suffer, and by doing so, gave Cell enough time to doom all of Chikyuu. 

But then Goku did what no one else could, and saved the world again -- at the cost of his own life. If I live to be a hundred, I will never meet another with more courage than he. 

Now, we all stand here immobile, rooted to the ground in disbelief. I want to say something, to offer comfort to the now fatherless youth who stands stiffly, alone, his face bleak and brokenhearted, but words fail me. I can think of nothing my mouth might utter that could possibly lessen his anguish, in light of all that he has just lost. The wind picks up and blows dust and bitter ash into our faces. For once even Vegeta is at a loss. He looks almost upset, but whether it is over Goku's death or losing the chance to regain his honor in a rematch with Cell, I cannot fathom. 

Then, something pricks my senses...a vague unease, an approaching malevolence, and 

abruptly the ground tilts under me and I find myself tossed backwards, a burning pain in my chest sucking the breath instantly out of me while the strength flows out of my limbs like water poured from a glass. Their shocked faces line my swiftly fading vision, mouths open in identical, almost comical expressions of disbelieving horror, and as the last faint exhalation of breath leaves my lips, I reach out a hand to the one I hold most dear... 

"Otousan--" 

-------------------------------------- 

Kakarot insulted me disgracefully, by summoning a mere child to fight in his stead, instead of his Prince. Bright, red-tinged fury consumed me, but incredulity tethered my tongue in place. He would send his own _son_ against a foe that he himself could not best? Did he truly hate the boy? What had I missed? 

And yet, soon after, a warrior stood before us whose power leapt up to levels I could hardly comprehend. A youth stronger than I, by several orders of magnitude. Bitter resentment and not a little shame filled me, for allowing a young boy to venture in where I should have trod. 

But I did not interfere because I knew...I knew that he was our only chance. And it mattered to me, the fate of this planet. Or at the very least, the fate of one of its occupants. It mattered more than I cared to admit. 

Unfortunately, insanely strong as he might be, he was still just a boy, and let the madness of battle carry him away. Unable to reign in his savage hunger, he made a critical mistake. It seemed that all was lost. Until Kakarot did the unthinkable -- and sacrificed himself to save the rest. 

Sacrifice. 

The term was almost unknown to Saiyajin. Barely comprehensible. We believed in strength, and survival, and power; those who weren't strong enough, died. Rarely did we put ourselves in danger for others. The only exceptions were the members of your squad. Strong ties often formed among battle-kin. I myself had never formed such ties, knowing them to be the weakness that they were. When Nappa outlived his usefulness, I killed him. 

Staring into the space, I cannot banish from my mind the image of that last moment, when Kakarot smiled that inane grin at us, and disappeared. It feels strangely unreal, to think that I will never see that vapid, innocent expression again, and I experience an unexpected pang of something not unlike regret. 

_You died without fear, you low-class warrior. What does that make me? I met my bitter end, so long ago, with much trepidation. Of course, you had not the lifetime of gruesome sins to stain your soul, as I did. _

No one was supposed to kill you but me! 

But suddenly the mantra that has sustained me for so long seems a blatant lie; even in my own head the words ring false. 

_I didn't want your death -- I wanted merely to best you. For you had become, against my will, something of value. I would never have wanted it, never have asked for it, and still I curse you for it and the weakness it represents within me. But you were my brother in combat. My only battle-kin. I sought your defeat, but not your demise._

Before my mind can even fully assimilate this unwelcome epiphany, an approaching power catches my attention-- 

_Cell!_

I try to cry out a warning, but there is no time-- 

A blindingly bright beam of power slices through the gloom, leaving a trail of scorching air in its wake. It narrowly misses myself, and the bald warrior, and I hold my breath, wondering what he could possibly have been aiming at-- 

And then there is no need to guess, as a charred, gaping hole appears in the center of my son's chest, the force of the blast knocking him off of his feet. The utter wrongness of seeing the ground _through_ his body causes bile to rise in my throat. His face turns toward me, and his mouth moves, though no sound emerges. Speech is not possible when your lungs have been incinerated. Yet I have no trouble reading the pale lips. 

_Father._

Rage, fury, and raw, bleeding guilt overcome me, preempting all control, igniting every ounce of blood coursing through my veins and fanning my whole being into blistering flame. I scream, and keep on screaming, launching myself at the verdant monstrosity, robbed of all reason. Wave upon wave of raw power flares out from my fingertips. I have never been so powerful. I will very probably die, but nothing is more important at this moment than unleashing everything I have left in me upon this abomination. This unholy demon, who so callously snuffed out the life of a boy-turned-man too soon, by the staggering weight of his entire world resting on his shoulders... 

My son. My perfect, flawed son. So utterly not Saiyajin, but so strong. And capable of more than I ever will be. Could I care enough about a ruined planet, to keep on fighting when all hope was gone? No...I have not the capacity. I only ever knew how to destroy. 

He went through so much, survived so much, sacrificed so much...and all he wanted from me was my approval. 

I never--I never told him-- 

He never knew-- 

_Is this what it feels like, Kakarot, to fight for another?_

-------------------------------------- 

There is an exhilaration that defies definition: an inexplicable rush that floods your senses with the dawning realization that impending, cataclysmic doom has miraculously been averted. That certain death and destruction have somehow been thwarted. We all celebrated, jumping for the sheer joy of being able to, of still having legs and a body, laughing because we still had breath in our lungs and a voice. Even that arrogant jerk almost cracked a smile, an uncharacteristically thoughtful and somber expression replacing the derisive smirk. I am inclined to be charitable to him, for now. We had been throwing everything we had at Cell, but it wasn't quite enough. At that last moment, he had stepped in and tipped the scales in our favor. 

Our jubilation quieted after a minute, sensitive to the fact that Goku and Trunks were still dead. But even that could not squelch our happiness, for the dragonballs would soon bring them back to us. 

I started off, with the rest of them, toward the lookout, leaving the Prince behind to muse over whatever it was that furrowed his brow in contemplative thought. But halfway there, I stopped...something was _off_...I felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to find Bulma. The strong impression of sorrow and heartache and blue eyes full of standing tears tore at me. Her heartbroken need drew me to her as if it held the other end of an invisible string twined round my soul and was slowly gathering it in. Even knowing that Vegeta might already be heading there, I had to go. I was powerless to do anything else. I could never deny her anything. 

-------------------------------------- 

Tired and dusty, standing wearily there in scorched and battered armor, dried rivulets of blood from a dozen cuts forming a lattice of dark red on the skin exposed by the shredded training suit, he is by far the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. 

Hesitating for a slight second, I attempt to check the impulse to throw myself at him, knowing he will not be pleased...but I have just lost both my childhood friend and my son, and I _need_ him. I saw their deaths in my mind as if I were actually there, Vegeta's horror echoing my own. Even the knowledge of the restorative powers of the dragonballs can't lessen the initial pain of loss, or erase the image of my sweet, sweet son, laid out on the cold earth with a charred hole blasted clean through his breastplate. Running as fleetly as my limbs will carry me, I fling myself off of the last step, launching into the air toward the figure made blurry by the tears already streaming down my face. 

Eyes wide, he catches me in his arms purely on reactive instinct, but for an instant I thought that he would sidestep my desperate leap and leave me to stumble to the ground. For the space of a few heartbeats, he lets me hold him, and then firmly, but not completely ungently, he disentangles himself and growls, "Compose yourself, woman, and leave off this disgraceful sniveling!" 

It's no use. The sleep deprivation, sheer fatigue, stress and grief of the past few weeks have completely unhinged me. I search futilely for control and come up wanting. He crosses his arms and glares at me as if to conceal the fact that he has no idea what to do with my inconsolable bawling. 

Yamucha has touched down behind him, sorrow in his eyes. Vegeta turns away, angry at me for a reason I can't comprehend, growling, "Get a grip on yourself! They died bravely in battle, and such displays of grief are unseemly!" 

My exhausted grief rolls over to raging fury all too easily. "You heartless bastard! He was my son!--" I lunge for his throat, but a hand of gentle steel catches my shoulder, and Yamucha pulls me into his arms. I fold into his comforting warmth and cry. In my pain I seek only to find another human soul with which to share my grief, who knows that there is no shame in tears, and no point in suppressing sorrow with denial. 

The disheveled prince keeps walking toward the house, and Yamucha lends comfort though his embrace and the whispered mention of the dragonballs. Yes. I latch on to the thought, using it as a lifeline to pull myself out of the abyss of despair that I was slowly sinking into. We will wish him back. We'll wish them both back. 

-------------------------------------- 

My anger was directed not at her, but myself. Her tears tore at my heart, leaving it raw and oozing unbearable, acid-tinged guilt. I should have saved him, somehow, for her. To spare her. I hadn't known, until it was too late, that it had progressed far enough to allow her to see through my eyes, when emotions ran high. 

I dealt poorly with her grief, although in all fairness it was a situation totally foreign to me. Saiyajin are a stoic lot, and there is no greater honor than to die in battle. No Saiyajin wants to meet his end old and incapacitated, in bed. Outward signs of grief shame the dead...at least on Vegetasei. Obviously such is not the way of Chikyuujin, and my reaction only served to push her into the arms of that scarred and scrawny weakling. 

Stripping out of the ruined armor, I fling myself down on the bed, mindless of the dirt and blood still upon me. Even the scolding I am likely to receive for the blatant infraction does not cheer me. 

Can't you see, woman, that I am as upset as you? Even if I cannot show it? 

-------------------------------------- 

Strange, to be back from the dead. I at first had vague impressions of the time spent in that other place, but they faded like a dream upon awakening, burnt away by the bright sun and the clear blue sky above. It seemed so unreal, that only a day ago we were fighting for the sake of the universe. That sounds so overblown, but we really were. Cell would have destroyed the earth and then kept on going, until there was nothing left to obliterate. 

But today, as I returned home, birds sang and trees danced, and for once I allowed myself to relax, drinking in the sight of a world not ravaged by monsters. In my whole life I had never seen so much green, or flown around without searching the horizon for the telltale trail of smoke swirling up from the charred remains of another ruined city. 

My mother was overjoyed to see me, the tracks of tears still visible on her radiant face, even though the others had promised that she would not have been told of my death until after the dragonballs had restored me. Had my father told her, just to be cruel? There was no sign of him. 

She wanted to cut my hair, again. I let her...I like it longer, long enough to pull back and fasten it out of my way, but I have long since resigned myself to the shorter style. Like this younger version, my own mother prefers it cut this way, and I would do anything, for either of them. After eating with her and Yamucha, I pleaded exhaustion and retired to my room. 

Yet I am unable to sleep. This world might be at peace, but the ultimate goal of my sojourn through time still lies before me. Tomorrow I will return home to confront the androids. Will I be strong enough? I have learned so much, come so far...will it be enough? 

Distressed, I open the window and levitate to the roof, seeking solace in the stars. They, at least, are familiar and unaffected by my petty human musings. Shining brightly in the cold silent vacuum of space, they wink calming assurance at me. 

But apparently I am not the only one seeking refuge on the rooftop tonight. 

"You, _boy_, are in my spot." 

No movement reveals my startlement, and without glancing back I snarl softly at him, "Did you tell her, just to cause pain? Do her tears please you?" 

The only reply is an angry hiss. Then, "You speak of what you can't understand, boy. I take no joy in her distress. She already knew." 

I can't see how, but I don't think he is lying. Whatever. "This is my spot. I've always come here." 

"I started coming here first." The almost petulant reply forces a smile out of me. I suppose, chronologically speaking, that he is right. In spite of my anger, it pleases me that we are similar enough to seek out the same patch of roof as a place for reflection, each without any influence from the other. 

"Well, are you going to move over, or what?" 

I grunt and move about an inch. He rolls his eyes and sits down. 

-------------------------------------- 

It wasn't hard to guess the subject of the thoughts that drove the boy to seek tranquility in the vast quietude of the clear night sky, and the calm, cool light of a half-moon and a smattering of stars. Only a few clouds drift high above, pushed along by the rolling wind. I don't know when I first began to visit this spot when I needed to think...although I suspect it was around the time that the blue haired woman sleeping below began to be more than merely annoying. Even now I can sense her beneath us, lying in quiet, peaceful repose, her chest rising and falling gently in time with her soft, slow breathing. I ache for want of her nearness, her soft warmth, and a muscle twitches in my leg from forced restraint. I'm not all that sure that she would welcome my presence in her chamber tonight. 

And I wanted...to talk to the boy. Seeing his smoking corpse on the ground had raised all kind of disturbing issues in my mind. I'd never thought the death of someone else could affect me so -- except for perhaps hers. 

He sits, lost in thought, a familiar frown on his too-human features: the mirror image of his mother's when concentrating on her latest project. So like her...and, I finally admit, so like myself. I really should think of him as a man, for he has surely proven himself as a warrior many times over. 

"Are you afraid, boy?" 

He doesn't miss a beat. We both know what I'm talking about. "No." 

"Good." He must know that by now that those androids are no match for him. 

But the frown deepens. "I guess I should clarify. I'm not afraid of dying. But I am afraid of failing." His gaze levels with mine, daring me to mock him. "Because that would mean _her_ death, and the eventual death of everyone else on my world." 

An immediate response fails me. I've never cared enough about anyone else to ponder events beyond my own death. The only planet I ever cared about exploded when I was five, and since then I've dedicated my life to destroying them, not their salvation. 

I want to speak, to say these things while I have the chance -- the things I realized, when he was dead. I was proud of him, and I wanted him to know it. I wanted him to know that it mattered to me, his fate and his mother's. But I just can't say it. Not so plainly. 

"Only a fool would take such circumstances lightly." I hope, in my guarded expression, that he can read the full meaning of my words, and hear what I am not voicing aloud. "But I am sure that the fate of your world could not possibly rest in more capable hands." 

His eyebrows lift marginally, in slight surprise. But a small, pleased smile appears on his lips. "Undoubtedly it is due to the training I have received during the time spent here." 

Then he laughs, a soft chuckle, and reclines on the sloping roof, supine, with his arms crossed behind his head. The hard lines of worry smooth out of his face, and the perpetually haunted look fades from his cerulean eyes. They are so like hers that it disturbs me to see them full of a lifetime of such pain and sorrow. 

What would he have been like, growing up in a peaceful world, allowed to have a normal childhood? What might _I_ have been like? But in a moment of realization, much like having a bucket of cold water upended over my head, I see that while the latter will always be a mystery, the former is within my grasp. 

I hadn't thought much beyond the end of the Games. There wasn't much point, after all, if we were all going to die. And it was only on that last night that Bulma came to me and rekindled my hope in...us. She said that the human did not hold her heart, and I knew it for truth. What I felt from her was no lie. 

But now...with no enemy to fight, and Kakarot gone...my life was suddenly...simple. I had nowhere to go, and nothing to do. My only option seemed to be staying here with her and the brat...but the idea appealed to me. I _wanted_ to be here, with her. And I wanted to see that mewling, irritatingly helpless infant grow into the man I saw before me. 

And so, I want to give him this one last thing, to carry with him into the future. "You can come back, you know, after you defeat them. The woman will want to know." An awkward pause. "Perhaps we can train some more." _I'll still be here. I'm not going to leave her, or her...our son. I will be there for them -- and your father would have stayed for you, had he lived. Tell your mother that._

It seems, from his serious expression, that he grasps all that I am saying, aloud and otherwise. In a low voice, he says, "You will make sure that he never has to...know the kind of life we had to lead?" Swallowing, he looks away. "He will grow up...happy?" 

"I swear it." 

He nods. "Mom will like to hear that." 

And after that we spent our last hours together in companiable silence. Nothing else needed to be said. 

-------------------------------------- 

Too soon, I found myself forced to say goodbye to Trunks. I loved this quiet, thoughtful young man with my entire heart and knew that his departure would leave an aching void that nothing else could ever quite fill. But it was a sweet ache, for I understood that he was going where he was needed, and that his entire world would be a better place, just because of him. I did not cry as I kissed him goodbye, because I was sending him back to his own mother, who must surely have missed him and loved him as dearly as I. 

Walking to the time machine, he looked content and at peace for the first time since our first meeting, when I hadn't even known who he was. Up until today, there had always been a slightly haunted, desolate cast to the clear blue eyes, just hinting at the horror that he must have lived with daily in the apocalyptic disaster of his own time. He was always careful to shield me from the worst of it, but he couldn't hide it all. As I waved at him, I nursed the hope that it would never return to darken their azure depths. I prayed that his life would finally be happy. 

His father stood apart from us, reclining elegantly against a tree, just barely close enough in proximity to be considered part of the event. His aloof reticence earned a disapproving frown from more than one direction, but _I_ knew that his very presence indicated more than a casual interest in the leave-taking of his son. As he raised his hand in a two-fingered wave, it seemed to me that he squeezed more into that small gesture than any verbal farewell could contain. 

When I dropped my hand from my eyes, from where it had been shielding them from the sun as they watched the fading yellow dot disappear into the sky, he was nowhere to be found. I wanted him with me so badly that I was shaking. I feared to contemplate the future and the consuming, empty loneliness of both of their absences drove me to the only place I could find respite, in the thought-repressing arms of slumber. 

-------------------------------------- 

The silhouette of a dark Prince in my window greets me as I awaken, sometime in the wee hours of the morning. Startled, I jump and emit an unlovely shriek, thankfully not loud enough to awaken the household or the baby in the next room. Lit from behind by the setting moon, he is at once both regal and frightening, his face in hidden in velvet shadow. 

"Vegeta! What the hell are you doing?" 

"Watching you sleep." And indeed he has been. From his relaxed position he appears to have been sitting, unmoving, staring at me for hours. 

Petulantly, I snap, "Well, _don't._ It's creepy." I am not the most patient person, when tired. 

He stirs as if to leave, brushing aside the curtain. 

"Wait--" 

His face turns toward me, although its expression is lost in the dark and the rest of his body remains poised to exit. "Yes?" 

"Don't go." _I need--_

Beside me in an instant, he whispers soft growling words in my ear. "Is that an invitation?" 

"No. Yes." My breathing is ragged and uneven. I am still upset with him over this afternoon, and yesterday, but my body wants him, longing for the embrace I'd almost lost forever. Wanting that complete, wonderful union with him, both mental and physical, overriding all other thought and emotion, burning out the bleak memory of the past days' sorrow. Just his proximity and his soft breath on my cheek have already ignited the insatiable flame of desire, kindling a slow burn deep in the very core of me. 

"Say that you want me." The unfathomable look in the obsidian eyes causes me to wonder whether that was supplication or demand. It doesn't matter, I am happy to comply. 

"I want you," I breathe. His lips touch my neck, burning, passionate, and my hands twine themselves in his hair. His teeth nip gently. "Oh, I want you." _Only you. Always._

The curtains over the window had fallen back into place upon his entrance, pouring darkness over the room, leaving it nearly pitch-black. But we don't need eyes for this, our lips finding each other without their aid. With no light to intervene, I forget where I end and he begins. In the aftermath of so much death and horror and loss, we cling to each other with a heightened desperation, our feverish passion more fervent than ever before. His grip bruises my flesh and is surely just short of snapping bone, but I have been inside his head and I welcome the pain, knowing what he has seen, and relishing his need for me. A crushing, overwhelming need mirrored by my own. For long moments, after the wave of desire has crashed upon the shore and left us sprawled helplessly in its wake, we can only hold each other, gasping for breath, lost in the sound of each other's heart beating...and then finally, finally, he lets me cry. 

-------------------------------------- 

From the soft quiet blackness of contented slumber, I reach out for the solid comforting warmth of iron muscle cloaked in silken skin, lying just a breath away, but my sleepy fingers find only the icy void of long vacant sheets in their quest. 

Brought to full awareness by the chill, I open my eyes to find him, bathed and fully clothed, except for the last boot which he is in the process of putting on. With the warm, satiated languor still flowing through my limbs from our activity only a few hours before, I sit up just as he walks toward the door, presumably to train. Taking his hand as he passes, I hold it to my lips and then try to tug him nearer, caressing the palm suggestively with my thumb. "Vegeta, stay a minute..." I say disarmingly, fully utilizing the tousled, just awakened, sleepy-but-more-than-ready look that had always worked on Yamucha. 

Almost as if against his will, he takes a step closer to me, but then the obsidian gaze narrows and he shakes my hands off, roughly. "Leave off, woman! I have drills to do! _Don't_ interfere with my training." This last is almost an angry growl, and he turns again to leave without a glance to spare for the hurt tears that spring, unbidden, to my eyes. Over his rapidly departing shoulder, he calls, "If you want to do something for me, why don't you try to cook something that I can actually _eat_?" 

My anger waits until he is well away before finally deciding to return in full force. That _bastard_! What does he think this is, a bed and breakfast?! But as quickly as it comes, it dissolves again into anguished tears, rolling silently down my cheeks as I fight back the sobs threatening to tear themselves out of my throat. 

Such beautiful lies he adroitly weaves, with the touch of lips and caress of hand, lulling me into mute obsequience. These adeptly fashioned falsehoods, bright insubstantial tapestries of dream and thought, are not meant to last beyond the night, and are carelessly unraveled by a single thread when the dawn arises. He promises the world without saying a word, hinting at forever but voicing nothing aloud. And imagined pledges are never binding. 

In the heat of passion, his soul bares itself to me, offering everything, all that I could ever want from him. But only in that one unguarded moment. The rest of the time he is coolly reserved...he takes all that I give him and leaves me little in return. Obviously he assumes that we will resume this dance that we started lifetimes ago...he will train until he breaks the machine, and I will fix it. I will cook his meals and then we will argue over the palatability of them. He will ignore his son and I will scream at him for it. 

I want so much _more_ than that. I want to _know_ that he loves me, that he won't leave... 

What do I really have? He has promised nothing, said nothing aloud, given me nothing solid to hang on to. Even assuming that he does stay, I can't bear being just his housekeeper and cook and occasional roll in the hay any longer. I have seen how his callous treatment of me tore at the heart of my adult son...how can I let my baby grow up seeing his mother treated so? How can I expect him to learn how to respect women, when I have none for myself? 

As much as I feared never seeing him again...my bruised heart weeps at this realization. I can't -- I just can't continue on like this. It hurts, more than I ever imagined anything could hurt...but this has to end. Now. 

-------------------------------------- 

_Too much is never enough._ Like a wildly addictive narcotic, I have craved more and more of her ever since that first forbidden taste. It took everything that I had to resist her this morning, upholding my commitment to train. And still I see her, silky blue tangles her only garment, faint lines from the sheet imprinted on her cheek, eyes sparkling naughtily with the promise of a pleasure unknown to me before I met her. She was more than enough to tempt me then, and continues to distract me from making any real progress all throughout the day. 

Well, I am almost done now. I might as well quit a little early, and go give her what she wants, the very thought evoking wicked amusement. Wiping down with a towel as I exit the heated chamber and meet the shock of cool night air, I quicken my pace, tingling with anticipation. I have more than enough energy left over for this. 

In my haste, and with the evening mist rolling in, I don't see her until I am nearly on top of her. Why is she outside, alone, at this hour? 

Waiting for me? Why? 

Instantly I sense that we are two opponents meeting on a field of battle. Something is vastly different. She stands like a lone night sentry, a silent unyielding sentinel carved from stone. No -- granite has more warmth. She is all cool steel and blue ice, her eyes freezing me in place, still a good two feet away. 

Perhaps she is still angry about my disparaging remarks toward her culinary skills. But that was by far not the worst thing I've ever said to her, not by a long shot. I remember fondly each argument we've had, and every heated retort she gave in response to my intentionally inflammatory barbs. She managed to top me nearly every time. Not many have done that. 

No, this is much more serious, and a knot of real fear tightens my stomach. We stand, staring at each other, and I try to figure out what the hell this is all about. 

"It's over, Vegeta. I can't do this anymore. It's time for you to leave." 

What in all nine hells is she talking about?! I can't imagine going anywhere else. _She had better think again..._

-------------------------------------- 

"I'm not going anywhere, woman," he growls, in a voice that makes me shiver. He pulls me to him with force, crushing me against him and bringing his lips fiercely down on mine. I respond in spite of myself for a second, and then jerk away. But he is not letting me go, and I find myself still just inches from those glittering black eyes. 

"Let me go!" Anger doesn't begin to describe what I'm feeling at this moment. "How dare you presume that I will settle for this! I will _not_ live like this anymore! I refuse to be just your cook and mechanic, and bed-mate when you tire of training!" I am shaking in my hurt rage. Tears of fury burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them spill. I wrench a hand free and slap him with an open palm across the cheek. The blow would have had more effect on a brick wall, but I am strangely satisfied. It seems to pain him, regardless, and he releases the other arm. 

"You can come by to see Trunks, but you can't stay here!" I turn on my heel to seek a quiet corner somewhere indoors to cry. 

He lunges and grabs my wrist, spinning me around. My other hand comes around to smack him again, but he catches it easily, smirking condescendingly at the attempt. Then his expression turns serious. I struggle furiously but ineffectually in his grasp, and he shakes me slightly. 

"Woman! That is not what you are to me!" 

Is there the tiniest catch in his voice? Is the mighty Saiyajin no Ouji actually close to tears? I shake myself mentally. In my rage I am almost beyond caring. 

"What the hell am I to you, then?!" 

-------------------------------------- 

Her eyes cut me to the core. Love, hate, shame, anger, and pride all swim in pools tinted a myriad shades of blue by the liquid brimming them but not yet split. I know no small amount of remorse, that it is all of my doing. 

"Tell me what I am to you!" she demands uncertainly. Her chest heaves, ragged breath caught in a near-sob. I step closer, to cover the distance between us. 

There is no way she could have known. None of the earthlings would have been able to guess, and Kakarot would have been too young to remember, aside from being an idiot. I am the only one who could have told her, but I wasn't even admitting it to myself. 

I reach out, and she stiffens, as if bracing for a blow, and after a moment of righteous indignation -- I would never harm her! -- I realize that she is merely steeling herself against my touch, as if it has the power to compel her against her will. Lightly skimming her shoulder, I slowly draw my fingers up over her collarbone, to the hollow of her throat, eliciting a shiver. There I trace lightly over a pale crescent of flesh, a scar that time will never fade. 

I swallow, and finally say the words that I have been denying for so long. "My mate." 

--------------------------------------   
End Chapter 12 

No, this isn't the end! I know that I promised that this would be the last chapter, but everything that I'd planned just was not going to fit in one chapter, and it's taken me way too long to update, anyway. There will be one more chapter to finish things up...and a short epilogue, dealing with mirai Trunks and his mother. So, look for 14 chaps, total. 

The good news is that chapter 13 is already half-written, so it won't be another long wait between updates. As always, email me if you'd like to be notified. 

No new artwork this time, but I'm working on one for next time :) 

The quote at the top is from the song "My, My", by Seven Mary Three. 

Ja ne!   
--[Sango (sango_chan@hotmail.com)][1]

   [1]: mailto:sango_chan@hotmail.com



	13. Fate

Insert standard disclaimer here. I don't own Dragonball Z or any of the characters. 

Unexpected, ch 13   
Fate   
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_Sleight of hand and twist of fate   
On a bed of nails she makes me wait..._

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I swallow, and finally say the words that I have been denying for so long. "My mate." 

Jerking upright, she stands immobile, every muscle visibly tightened as her eyes pierce holes in me with the sharp, mind-numbing shock they reflect. She doesn't even seem to be breathing. I wait uneasily, the rise and fall of my own shallow breaths the only movement I can manage; even the ash-grey blanket of misty fog surrounding us seems to halt its wind-swirled motion in anticipation. 

Her reaction, when it finally comes, is not at all what I'd expected: razored, cutting laughter, with the edge directed inward. "Is that so, Vegeta?" she laughs, but there is no humor in her tone. Her usually clear voice has a ragged edge that is painful to hear. "Do you think that you can just _say_ it, and it is so?" 

In contrast to her increasing volume, my voice has gone deadly quiet. "No." I gesture to the scar, and say simply, "This makes it so." My hands look strangely dark against the milky paleness of her arms, and realizing that I am likely bruising her damnably delicate flesh, I loosen my grip slightly. Still in contact with the silken, burning warmth of her skin, I can actually feel the bright, blinding rage of emotions humming angrily under the surface. 

Her fists clench, eyebrows drawing down in furious confusion. "What?" 

I sigh, not liking the way this is going, and having a strong premonition that it is only going to get worse from here. "On Vejitasei, anyone who came upon you would immediately know that you were mated. For life." _Isn't that what she wants?_ But my words are not having the desired effect, as she grows more irate with every syllable I utter. Eyes blazing cobalt with a flame so intense that it is almost difficult to look at her, she leans closer, mouth open, I am sure, to unleash the blistering venom in her soul upon me. 

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_Unbelievable._ I am beyond fury. On his planet we would have been mated, ever since that first night, and yet he has abandoned me, time and again, nearly killed my best friend...and he _let the ship fall..._

Oh, that bastard!-- 

"What an utterly barbaric culture! I am not cattle, to be branded and owned, without so much as a by-your-leave!" Pausing only for breath, I continue, "And in case you have not noticed, we are not on your non-existent planet! Your primitive, ass-backward laws aren't binding here!" He manages to look at once both slightly taken aback and insulted, and there is a glint of real anger, and something else, in his eyes. 

Poking a furious finger into his chest, I rage, "And what kind of mate would leave, go off and--" My throat closes, and I have to swallow hard against the tears, though they betray me, coming forth anyway. "Just forget it!" Berating myself for the weakness, I dash them from my eyes with a vengeance and shove away from his unresisting hold. He belatedly reaches as if to stop me; spitting like a cat, I hiss, "Don't touch me!" and make a mad, tear-hindered dash toward the house. 

"Woman!" he roars, in a tone of voice I have heard from him only rarely, and never directed at me. "You _will_ hear me out!" 

An icy little shiver of fear trails down my spine in spite of myself; I increase my pace, lengthening my stride, and I almost make it-- 

But before I can cross the threshold, I am abruptly caught up from behind by unyielding arms of banded steel, borne away from the earth at a sickening velocity that leaves my stomach behind. Struggling futilely in his grasp, I dredge up from memory every foul turn of phrase that I know, swearing like a sailor, before I realize that perhaps I really don't want him to let go; the snowy cloak of evening mist covers everything, and I can no longer see the ground. 

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I _will_ make her listen to me. 

Unable to come up with a better idea, I bodily abduct her with a flying tackle. The only coherent thought in my mind is that I refuse to let her run away from me, from this. After a fashion, I decide that the best solution is to take her somewhere that she will have no other option but to hear me out. There are any number of uninhabited islands nearby from which she will have no escape; her frail body cannot survive a swim in the frigid waters on a night like this. 

She hits ineffectually at me with fists and feet, screeching obscenities so varied that I can't help but pause a minute in admiration. She could have made even the most grizzled of Frieza's soldiers blush like a schoolgirl. Insisting that I put her down, she continues the assault on my eardrums until the sheer futility of it finally sinks into her fury-clouded mind. 

Changing tactics with a dizzying speed that leaves my head spinning, the little vixen twists herself around in my arms, wraps a leg around my waist, and _bites_ my ear. Nearly dropping her in surprise, I curse the swift, fierce reaction of my body. I want to _talk_ to her, not-- 

Her other foot caresses my calf and her fingers run through my hair. Her hips tease, just a little, grinding against mine slightly with a shift that could have been accidental, though I would have placed money otherwise. Her mouth trails wet heat in a teasingly slow, circular path from ear to shoulder and back again. 

"Woman, knock it off!" I groan. It takes all of my discipline to furiously suppress the mental image of our bare limbs, intertwined in heady pleasure. This is more important, and I'm no fool; she doesn't really mean it. 

_Finally!_ I find somewhere to land and dump her out of my arms as if the touch of her skin burnt me. Only, she is prepared, and instead of dropping to the ground, she twists in midair and aims a completely unexpected kick to where all warriors are most vulnerable. To my misfortune, I had not anticipated such an underhanded attack from her, and I drop like a rock. The catlike, self-satisfied grin on her face is unendurable, but I have to chuckle. I am constantly underestimating the resources of this one. Perhaps she really is worthy of me. 

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I derive no small satisfaction from seeing him bent double in the breathless agony that only men can know. The smirk on my face must surely rival his customary one. He is wearing it even now, the arrogant smugness clearly recognizable, if slightly pain-twisted. 

"Little bitch." The expletive is almost affectionate. He is _pleased_ that I took him off guard, caused him pain?! 

Already rising to his feet, he turns to face me. Cornered like a wild animal, I have nowhere to run. I'd never survive the swim in these conditions; hypothermia would claim me well before I made it to the mainland. But my boiling anger at his audacity is enticing me to try. I turn away, taking in my surroundings, sucking in cool rationality from the salt-tinged breeze that stirs the sand at my feet. 

The fog has rolled back, leaving everything etched into sharp relief by the half moon set among a winking canopy of stars overhead. The crisp white light illuminates a narrow swath of dark, fathomless ocean, sparkling brilliantly among the liquid obsidian ripples like a pathway of flawless diamonds trailing from coast to horizon. The only audible sounds in my ears are the racing of my heart and the muted roar of the waves crashing periodically on the shore. I can almost pretend us to be merely out for a romantic midnight tryst, the sight is so utterly still and beautiful. _Almost..._

For an instant, I wish that I could somehow halt the flow of time, forever capturing the quiet crystalline perfection of this elysian moment. 

Instead, I must find my resolve and face what stands before me: the death of something I always wanted and never quite had, the pristine white stag I'd endlessly pursued through tangled thicket and deep emerald forest, never managing to snare. Its flight was too fleet, its tracks too elusive; I'd undertaken an impossible quest. It is time to give up the hunt. 

I inhale deeply and break the quivering silence. "You have some nerve, Vegeta, dragging me out here like this." The fiery anger has burnt out of me, leaving behind only the cooling ashes of bitter resignation. 

His earlier temper seems likewise to have fled. Emotionless and detached, he retorts, "You left me little choice, woman." 

_Hells, Vegeta. Why do you do this to me?_ I shiver uncontrollably from the inevitable chill; I'm wearing only jeans and a light shirt, no fit attire for a frigid, blustery night on a deserted beach. 

As though the movement is automatic, unconscious, he steps toward me, arms slightly opened, intending to wrap me in them and lend me their warmth. Tempting, but cold as I might be, I do not want him touching me again; I back away, my foot sinking into the powder-soft sand. It crumbles underfoot, making me lurch awkwardly, exaggerating the rebuffal to look more vehement than it actually is. He halts the forward motion almost as soon as it begins, his reflexes so lightning-swift that I almost wonder if it were only my imagination that he moved at all. But not quite. For I can plainly see the suddenly stiffened set of his shoulders, the rigid posture that speaks silently but clearly of the hurt I've dealt him. 

With a blisteringly cold look, he turns and begins gathering together driftwood, lighting the small pyre he accrues with the careless flick of one aristocratic finger. 

"Sit," he commands icily. Which has no effect on me, of course; I'm not one of his soldiers, to be ordered about. 

His fists clench at his sides, anger returning. Absurdly, I'm beginning to enjoy this. "Stop being so childishly obdurate, woman!" he rails at me. "You're drowning out the ocean, with your teeth chattering like that!" 

I stare silently at him a bit longer, in a wordless contest of wills. Finally, the desire to be warm again stomps all over what's left of my pride; after all, there is no point in standing my ground when it's so much warmer elsewhere. With as much grace as I can muster, I seat myself near the flames, drinking in their flickering warmth. For a while, there is only the sound of the ocean and the feel of the sand underneath me, the warm air fanning my face, stirring my hair faintly, tickling my skin. The bright tongues of flame jump and dance in the wind, the occasional spark leaping up to the sky, and I am reminded suddenly of the last time we two sat across from each other with a fire between us, ages ago, in much different circumstances. That was the first time he'd ever held me...so long ago. When I at last look up, the hard edge of his gaze has softened infinitesimally. _Does he remember, too?_

"Will you now listen?" he asks, his voice veiled, too perfectly casual. Everything about him is closed, unreadable. Eyes darker than the night around us regard me calmly, detached and inscrutable. 

The dance begins. "I don't have much choice at the moment, do I?" I mutter darkly, and more petulantly than I'd like. Not for the first time, I wish that I had a fraction of his skill at quashing unwanted emotion. 

"None." 

He falls silent after that, pausing so long that I am on the verge of screaming at him to _get on with it already_, when he finally begins to speak, low and haltingly. "The Saiyajin were a solitary breed. Rarely did they ever take a mate; males greatly outnumbered the females, who were generally not displeased with the ratio, as it gave them their choice of partners, taking whom they would for a time, selecting those who would sire the strongest offspring." His gaze unfocuses as he talks, falling away from me into the distance, where I can only guess at what it is he sees. Nothing that now exists, I surmise, and feel a twinge of pain for him, to my irritated dismay. "Occasionally, two would surface who wanted only to be with the other, though it was very rare, occurring only once in several generations, and _never_ among the Saiyajin no Ouke. It was generally regarded as a flaw and a weakness--" 

I snort impolitely, unsurprised. He glares at me, coming back to himself, but continues on when I say nothing, casting a black look of annoyance in my direction. "After all, it flew in the face of all that they believed in: survival of the fittest. Breeding without care for the best genetic match did not further the power of our race, and after so much time spent in bondage to another, strength was everything to us. Not that it mattered, in the end," he mutters bitterly, under his breath. Again, a dart of compassion finds a chink in my armor and stabs my heart painfully. I resolve to shut my mouth after that, to let him finish. 

In clipped tones, he goes on. "They may have disparaged the idea of mating, but they respected it; to touch a woman bearing the scar of another was just cause for death at her mate's hands. Or hers," he adds. _Is he hiding a smile?_

"What I am getting at, woman, is that I was drawn to mark you as such, that night, but I never meant to." 

_Where the hell is he going with this?_ Is he _trying_ to rub salt in my wounds, to injure me further? I grind my teeth with the effort it costs me not to start yelling at him. 

He remains blissfully ignorant of the inner fury I'm barely holding in check, finishing with, "But I don't regret it...now." His eyes regard me steadily, unblinking, with a neutral expression that gives me no clue as to the nature of his words. Looking down, I furiously study, in detail, each grain of pale gleaming silicon encrusted on my bare feet, the cuffs of my jeans, blinking back hot tears of frustration. What is he getting at? Why can't he just say it, plainly? 

I'm so tired of guessing... 

"Woman." Preternaturally, he is behind me in the span of a heartbeat, so breathlessly close but not touching, leaving that last centimeter of air between us, a vast, gaping canyon that I know I will have to be the one to bridge. He burns hotter than the campfire, making me tremble for want of touching him, his breath grazing my cheek as he whispers in my ear. "There was much I had to do then, and I wanted no bonds to tether me anywhere." _Bonds of any kind bring terror to one who has known true slavery--_

This last I hear as though it were spoken aloud, though I know that it was not. 

"But now, Bulma, I have no plans to go anywhere..." His voice trails off, and I am drowning in his nearness, overwhelmed by the rare music of my name spoken with his voice, weak from the radiating heat of his body and the clean, male scent of him that fills my nostrils, the scent that I'd never forgotten, not even for a minute, long after it had faded from my sheets... 

"Ever." 

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We are at an impasse. There is nothing else my pride will let me say, and what I have already said, though it cost me dearly, has apparently not been enough. Still her back is to me, cold and stiff, ramrod-straight. She trembles slightly, whether from cold or emotion I cannot tell. 

This is it, I suppose. I can not, I _will_ not grovel before her. I can't live with her if it means forsaking my pride. So many times, it was the only tenuous barrier holding back the abysmal, consuming black void of complete madness. It has permanently fused to every facet of my existence, and I can't separate from it now, even for her. Without it, there is not much of me left. 

Yet, even after such a short amount of time, I also can't imagine what my life would be like without her. How can I go back, to what I was? I am no longer capable of convincing myself that I truly prefer the forced solitude that was all I knew, for so long. 

Those handful of days, when no misunderstanding or obstacle otherwise hindered us, they were the only days in my life that I can remember being...happy. Content simply to exist in the present, to just _be_. Those fleeting moments cast an ugly, clarifying light on all that I had thought happiness to be, before. All of my youth was spent immersed in a twisted dream, deriving my only joy from the fantasy of immortality, the dark hope of revenge. Then later, I sought the goal of reaching Super Saiyajin, and after that, beating Cell. Some future accomplishment always held the key; after I achieved it, my life would be complete, I could finally be content, at peace. But it never happened, so I would find a new quest to pursue, convincing myself that the next time would be different. 

The only times I ever let go, ever allowed myself to forget, were the times with her: that wordless dance in the dark, bodies and minds melding together, giving and taking, touching and tasting. Knowing and being known, in the most intimate sense -- finally being understood. In those moments, she knew all that I was, accepting everything without judgment, wanting me as the man I was and not the one I wanted to be. Locked tightly in her arms, limbs slack from that satiated lethargy passion leaves in its wake, I would feel an unfamiliar peace, blessed sanctuary from the incessant demands of my driving ambition. For a time, anyway. 

She _is_ my peace, the quiet stillness that tames the raging storm in my breast, and lets me find a moment's rest. The bleak image of life without her looms darkly before me, undermining my resolve. Closing my eyes, I wait for her to say something, anything... 

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_Does he mean it?_

He's never lied to me, but I've waited so long to hear something like this from his lips that I can't quite believe it. _Oh, but he does mean it_...I can almost see the tangled web of his emotions, coiling around each other in turmoil, so much like my own. This is real. 

Everything hinges upon what I do now, at this moment. At one word from me, it could all be over, I know. He would leave, never looking back. And a part of my heart would die, forever. I will never truly be free of him; he lives in my blood and marrow, threading through every ounce of my being, impossible to separate. But it would seem that he is no less affected... 

"Yes," I breathe. "Stay." 

Crossing the gulf between us in less than the space of two breaths, I twist to face him, finding his lips against mine before I can even complete the motion. I cling to him feverishly as the kiss deepens, the rush in my ears drowning out the gentle crashing of the waves at my back. Pulling away slightly, he looks at me for a long moment, and only the tiniest flicker in the far reaches of his obsidian gaze tells me that he'd been afraid I would say otherwise. Then, he utters a short laugh, flashing a feral gleam of white teeth into the semi-darkness, the low sound of delight thrilling my senses before he bears me not-quite-roughly back onto the soft blanket of sand, heedless of where it clings to us both. 

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As the first tentative rays of the awakening sun reach out from beyond the horizon, he stirs and rises to his feet in one smooth motion, graceful as a cat, lifting me effortlessly along with him. He doesn't say it, but the thought is in both of our minds: Let's go home. _Home._

Dawn is almost upon us by the time he touches down, the landing so graceful and the transition into his liquid gait so smooth that I don't even notice that we're on the ground until he shifts my sleepy weight in his arms to allow him to open the door. He continues to carry me up the stairs, proceeding to my room and laying me on the still-made bed. I wiggle under the sheets, aware that I am covered head to toe in enough sand to fill a small sandbox, deciding that I can worry about that later. 

Just as my head touches the blissful softness of my pillow, an infant's small cry catches my ears: those first sleepy sounds he makes upon awakening, before working himself into a full-throated wail. 

"Mmmmm....Trunks," I moan tiredly. Could your timing be any worse? Vegeta, stretched out at my side, rolls over to look crossly at me as I stumble upright, plodding sleepily toward the next room and dusting everything along the way with a generous scattering of sand. Lifting my son out of the crib, I smile in spite of myself at his delighted grin. "Not your fault momma was out all night, is it?" 

We go through the usual morning routine of changing, feeding, and burping, but he must be beginning to teethe, because no amount of rocking will lull him back into slumber for a few more hours, as he is usually more than willing to do. He only quiets as I walk with him in my arms, and I am forced to pace endlessly though the halls with him, trying not to fall over in my exhaustion. 

"Woman." 

I start at the sound of his voice behind me. Damn his silent Saiyajin footfalls. Turning around, I find him looking strangely serious, and much more awake than I. He's also managed to lose most of the sand. 

"Give me that." He gestures at the now-fussing bundle that is his son. 

Dumbfounded, I hand Trunks over, amazed that Vegeta is holding him of his own volition. It must have shown on my face, because he snaps, "You're clumsy enough fully awake. You'll only drop him down the stairs in your current state." 

_I would not!_ my tired mind protests, but I merely yawn and make my way back to the inviting warmth of my bed before he rescinds the decision, snuggling into the hollow made by his body before falling into a deep, dreamless slumber. 

Some hours later, I awaken scratchy but supremely content, enjoying the play of muscles well-used as I stretch. Wondering where my baby is, and why he hasn't woken me again at such a late hour, I roam the house curiously to find them both sound asleep in the living room, covered by a blanket most likely provided by my mother. 

For a long moment, I stand gazing at the man frowning in his sleep on my couch, and the slumbering infant lying facedown on his chest, drooling on his father's shirt. I can't help but smile at the indignant outrage that _that_ will evoke in my mate, when he awakes. My heart is filled to bursting as I suddenly realize: we are a _family._ My son has a father, and I...I have my soulmate. Was it only two years ago that I wept as though my heart were breaking, over the loss of my first love? Certainly at that point it seemed I was doomed to be alone and unloved, forever. But life has a way of turning all of your expectations upside down and surprising you; for who at that time could ever have imagined the two of us, together? 

Sighing in contentment, I slip silently up to where they lie and brush my lips against his slightly stubbly cheek. Even that slight movement is enough to wake him. The scowl never leaves his face, but I've finally learned to search his eyes in order to read his heart; the intensity of what I find there leaves me stunned, breathless. His free hand snakes up through my hair to cup my neck gently but firmly, drawing my lips near again. The contact reopens a circuit between us, and through the dazzling current leaping to link our minds, I see his naked, unobscured impression of me. In his eyes I am lovely and pure, something to cherish: safety and sanctuary and redemption. He shifts the baby to make room and I sink into his embrace, pressed along the length of him, held firmly to his chest by an arm that brooks no opposition. Nestled in his surrounding warmth I soon fall prey again to the insistent pull of sleep, his renewed soft snoring revealing that he has beaten me to it. My last coherent thought is that being with him was a wild twist of fate that I could never, in a million years, have predicted, but my newfound happiness was no less wonderful, for all that it was completely Unexpected. 

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End Chapter 13 

The End 

That's it! Hope you liked it. Let me know, either way :) 

_New fanart!_ A pic of the final scene, by Kayin. (I can't add links to the chapters anymore, but you can find a link near the bottom of my bio.) 

Thank you so very much for your patience with me, I know that it took me a long time to upload the later chapters. In the interests of updating more regularly, I'm planning to limit myself to having only two fics actively in progress at one time, and for the moment they are going to be Sojourn and Guardian (A Final Fantasy X fic I haven't posted yet). Eventually though, I _do_ plan on writing a sequel to Unexpected, so stay tuned... 

(The song exerpt at top is from "With or Without You", by U2, but I'm sure you knew that.) 

~Sango   
sango_chan@hotmail.com 


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